Weeb Adventures
by Andrius
Summary: Harry's leisurely life as Britain's celebrated hero is upended when his best friend helps him realize he has lost sight of what's truly important. Armed with harebrained plans and driven by manly dreams, they set out for Central Europe in search of the legendary harpy queen. Sequel to Weeb.
1. Fantastic Monster Girls, Part 1

Harry descended the stairs into the basement kitchen, today's _Daily Prophet _tucked under his armpit. The gas lamps lit at his passing, chasing away the gloom and revealing the aftermath of Sirius's birthday party. He paused on the last step to survey the mess. Half-eaten snacks and tissue paper littered the floor, the enormous table was stained with spilled drinks, and there were bottles and glasses perched on every surface.

He ventured in, kicking the rubbish and vanishing it with sharp swishes of his wand. Upon arriving at the pantry, he unearthed a clean plate and salvaged enough provisions to fix himself a ham sandwich, then Apparated to the drawing-room upstairs where consuming his meal would prove less of a biological hazard.

Setting the plate on a coffee table, he ran his eyes over his trophy couch appreciatively before plopping down. Due to basilisk leather's innate resistance to anything short of Fiendfyre, it remained in mint condition despite years of usage. Unfortunately, same couldn't be said for other furnishings.

Producing his wand, he jabbed it at a fuzzy purple stain on the rug where some jackass had dropped a vial of an exotic potion.

"Scourgify."

Much like during his previous attempt, the stain frothed, absorbing the soap suds with an angry hiss. This time, however, it also expanded by an inch and appeared to be developing feelers. Eyeing it warily, he sidled away; he'd let Sirius deal with it when he got back. The nerve of the man, running off gallivanting with a witch he just met and leaving Harry to clean up after him.

He bit into his sandwich, then flicked a crumb off his T-shirt, watching the purple fuzz slurp it up. To be fair, he was just as slovenly as his godfather, and barring an occasional woman's touch the Grimmauld Place was turning into a pigsty. Two solutions came to mind: putting in a little elbow grease, or indenturing a representative of a species who couldn't say no to their master's orders.

Not much of a choice.

Retrieving the newspaper, he snapped it straight. With his vault depleted by years of living the good life, he doubted he could afford a house-elf outright, but perhaps his name would help him haggle down. Sirius wouldn't chip in: the man would rather live in filth than ask anything of 'those stuck-up snobs'. Alas, house-elves came from magical homes with long histories, which meant wealthy pureblood families.

As he was flipping through to the classifieds, a large photograph near the middle caught his eye. Shaky as if shot from a great distance, it depicted a winged woman soaring under storm clouds, her blurred breasts bouncing with every powerful flap of her wings.

The embers in the marble fireplace sputtered to life, then flared green, forcing him to abandon his intellectual curiosity. Chucking the _Prophet _onto the table, he reached for his wand.

Anthony Goldstein's head appeared in the Floo, bloodshot eyes under a mop of straw-colored hair quickly centering on Harry.

"There you are. _The great Harry Potter_."

He smiled. "I know I am, but it's always nice to hear a reminder."

"Couldn't... couldn't rest without giving you a piece of my mind," Tony slurred. His shoulders materialized in the flames, followed by the rest of his lanky frame, but his advance was stalled by an invisible barrier. "Ow! What the hell?"

Harry rolled his eyes and waved his wand to let him through. "I told you yesterday, we installed additional security because of all the solicitors."

Rubbing his forehead, Tony gave him a dark look, then crawled out of the grate. He began rising to his feet unsteadily, then seemed to change his mind and plonked down cross-legged on the rug. Harry watched him scatter ashes on it with a sort of resigned exasperation.

"Yesterday," Tony said, raising a finger. "You know what else you did yesterday?"

"Learned first-hand that Knotgrass Mead and Gillywater are never to be mixed?" He took a bite out of his sandwich.

Tony furrowed his brows, then nodded. "Useful data, that. But!" His finger pointed at Harry. "Don't think I didn't notice you talking to Evelyn all night."

He grimaced. "It was more her talking to me—_at _me, really. You should've come to my rescue instead of transfiguring lewd ice sculptures all night."

"Those are art," Tony said. "And I shouldn't have done _shit. _She broke up with me."

"Ah," he said delicately. "Sorry to hear that."

Tony crossed his arms. "You better be."

He gestured with his sandwich. "Look, she might've been dropping hints the size of Quaffles, but I made it clear I wasn't interested."

Tony glared. "And then she dumped me because the only reason she was with me in the first place was to get closer to _you_!"

"What was I supposed to do, huh?" He exhaled slowly; getting irritated over Tony's drunken drivel wouldn't help. "She tell you that herself?"

"Not in those exact words, but yeah. Among insulting my parentage and manhood." He averted his eyes. "I confronted her about yesterday. We had a... slight argument."

"And then you got sloshed and decided to come whinge to me." He raked a hand through his hair. "You've been together what, a couple weeks? She isn't worth it, mate. Plenty of mermaids in the sea."

"Easy for you to say," Tony muttered.

Harry opened his mouth, but a loud tapping came from the window, and he turned to find a frayed owl on the sill outside. "Not again... Hang on, I better take this before it starts diving at the window or something."

"See what I mean?" Tony said morosely.

"The letters get old after the first few hundred, trust me." Harry trudged to the window and yanked it open. The owl hooted and proffered its dirty leg to which a thick envelope was affixed with a length of cord. He did his best to undo the knot with as little contact as possible before slamming the window shut. "Bloody pests... Sirius said his ward would keep them away... Should've known he'd be shite at it." Returning, he tossed the letter onto the couch and sat down heavily beside it.

"Well, don't let me keep you from reading that, Mr. Popular," Tony said. "My paltry problems can wait."

He shrugged. "If you insist."

Picking up the letter, he turned it over in his hands. Instead of a return address, the back of the envelope had 'Secret Admirer' written in a loopy script. Sighing, he tapped the envelope with his wand in a practiced gesture, causing it to rip open at the top. Another flick had the parchment inside unfolding and levitating before him.

"Dear Harry, blah blah... Saw you in Diagon Alley... Want your wand in my cauldron... Wore these thinking about you..." His eyebrows climbed higher with every line he read. Allowing the letter to fall, he upended the envelope, and a bundle of red fabric dropped into his lap. Spearing it with his wand, he lifted it up, where it unfurled into a pair of lacy knickers. "Okay, that's new."

"Do you _have_ to rub it in?" Tony cried.

He gave him an incredulous look. "Mate, it's some creepy stalker. Probably half-troll or worse."

"At least you have stalkers! All _I'm_ known for is being that guy who hangs around Harry Potter."

"You were pretty happy about being _that guy_ when I got you prime seats to the Quidditch Cup." It hadn't cost him a penny, either—he rarely had to pay for tickets these days.

"That's..." Tony stared down at his lap before sighing. "That's true. I'm sorry, man. None of this is your fault."

"It's cool," he said absently, sliding the knickers into his pocket. He would thoroughly check them for curses later; one could never be too careful.

Tony lifted his head, peering at him with suspiciously glistening eyes. "You know I love you, right?"

Harry bobbed his head. "Sure."

Tony clambered around the table and toward the couch. His foot landed squarely in the middle of Fuzzy the Stain, and it deflated with a pitiful whistle. "I mean it. You've always been a good friend, and here I am blaming you for what some bint did. You deserve better."

Harry scooted to the right to avoid his ungainly lunge. "It's cool, mate, really—"

Undeterred by his failure, Tony lurched to wrap his arm around Harry's shoulders. "I hope you still want to be mates," he wailed. "I know I've been a shit friend. I haven't been there when you needed me. Like—like when you fought V-Voldemort."

"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered, wrinkling his nose at the reek of alcohol. He patted Tony's back, then extracted himself from his clumsy embrace. "Of course we're mates—but try to hug me again, and I swear I'll Stun you."

Tony sniffled. "You mean it?"

"Every word. The last ones, especially." Rising to his feet, he jabbed a finger at him. "Stay here and don't touch my sandwich. I'm going to get you some tea."

Nodding quickly, Tony slumped on the couch and wiped his face with a sleeve. Harry sighed. The bloke was such a drama queen when drunk.

Turning on his heel, he popped down to the kitchen and employed his meager arsenal of domestic spells to brew some Earl Grey. Levitating a couple of mismatched mugs, he took the long way back up. Exorbitant prices or not, he _had_ to get an elf, if only so he wouldn't have to fix his own tea like a plebeian.

He returned to the drawing-room to find Tony hunched over the _Daily Prophet_. "Anything interesting in the paper?"

Tony fixed him with a feverish stare. "This is it!"

"What?" he asked, meticulously guiding the steaming mugs down onto the table.

"There are these mountains in Slovakia—just look!" Tony slapped the paper with his palm, making tea slop over the rims of the mugs.

Harry glanced down at what had him so excited. The admonition he'd been about to speak was forgotten when he saw the photograph of a winged woman, and above it, a headline: 'Harpy Queen Flies over High Tatras'.

"It says the queen lays a golden egg once a century," Tony said as Harry skimmed the article. "It's supposed to have all sorts of magical powers—here." He tapped the relevant paragraph.

"'Local authorities are overwhelmed as potioneers, magizoologists, and poachers from the world over flock to the country,'" Harry read aloud. "Sucks for the chick, I guess."

Tony grinned. "So, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I'm _not_ helping you steal the egg. You really ought to do something about your unhealthy obsession with gold."

"I don't want to steal it, I want to _protect _it!" Tony exclaimed. "Look, it's simple: we travel to the continent, help the poor downtrodden harpies, and they shower us with grateful hospitality." There was a faraway look in his eyes and a goofy grin on his lips.

Harry guffawed, wishing he had a Pensieve so he could show Tony the memory once he sobered up. "Hey, sticking your dick in a bird has always been your dream, not mine."

"First of all, they're not _birds_. Says right here they're distant cousins to the veela. Second, I don't want to..." He glanced at the photo. "Okay, so maybe I do. Can't blame a bloke for wanting a piece of that, right?"

Harry chortled. "Mate, you're plastered out of your mind. Drink your tea."

Tony gave him a shrewd look. "What happened to conquering new frontiers?"

"What are you on about?" he asked, washing down the remains of his sandwich.

"Your little speech back after the second task! Did that mean nothing to you?" Tony took a careless gulp from his mug and winced, sticking his tongue out.

It took him a moment to recall what Tony was talking about. Taken aback despite himself, he covered it up with a chuckle. "I grew up. Happens to all of us."

Tony glanced pointedly at his T-shirt, which had 'The Fake is of Greater Value' emblazoned underneath a cat ear headband.

"Well, maybe not _that _much." He stood and patted Tony on the shoulder. "Come on, hit the shower and I'll let you kip on my couch. You'll end up in the bloody Orkneys if you Floo in that condition again."

"I thought it was great," Tony said.

He paused mid-stride toward the door. "What?"

"Your speech." Tony made a vague gesture. "Really, you know, moving. Made me want to go on a journey or something."

Harry just snorted and went to fetch a blanket. It was nice to be appreciated, but Tony probably wouldn't even remember it tomorrow.

* * *

"Rise and shine," Harry said in a sing-song voice and raised the blinds with a flourish. Dazzling sunlight poured in, yet Tony continued to slumber. When Harry shook his shoulder, he merely grunted sleepily and turned his back to him. Losing his patience, Harry took aim with his wand. "Aguamenti!"

Tony yelped and rolled off the couch, sputtering. His reddened eyes landed on Harry, and for a moment, he looked like a betrayed puppy. Snickering, Harry spelled him dry, more out of concern for the carpeting than Tony's benefit.

"What's the big idea?" Tony demanded, wiping his face.

Harry swept his arms out. "We're going to Slovakia!"

Tony stared, then slowly shook his head. "The only place I'm going to is the bathroom."

"Don't be long. We've got about"—he glanced at the clock—"two hours to prepare. I'll be down on the ground floor."

Tony mumbled something and shuffled out of the room like a zombie. When he walked into the dining room a quarter of an hour later, his hair was damp and his gait decidedly more human-like. Harry greeted him with a smile that wouldn't leave his lips since that morning and a plate of English breakfast.

"Dropped by the Leaky," he said to the unasked question.

Grunting, Tony slumped on a chair and tucked in. Somewhere between demolishing the black pudding and wolfing down the fried eggs, he raised his head and frowned at Harry, who was observing him with a mix of amusement and disgust.

"Aren't you gonna eat?"

Harry shook his head. "You ever take an international Portkey?"

"No, why?"

His perpetual grin widened. "You'll find out."

"Lost me there, mate," Tony said, swallowing another mouthful.

Harry clicked his tongue. "Stop being obtuse, it was your idea."

Tony scratched at his nose. "Look, if this is about what I said yesterday..."

"You bet your bollocks it's about what you said yesterday. I stayed awake half the night thinking, and you know what I realized?" Harry pointed at him. "That you're absolutely right!"

Tony's eyebrows rose. "I am?"

He nodded emphatically. "There's a world of wonders waiting out there, yet here I am worrying about household chores. Well, that's about to change. You and I, we're going on an adventure!"

Tony gave him a long look, then sighed. "Mate, I'm sorry, but I never thought you'd take my ramblings seriously. You do realize how insane this sounds, right? Besides, I got work tomorrow."

Harry's lips curled in disgust. "Wage-slave."

"NEET," Tony retorted.

"Hey, if I'm a NEET, so's every pureblood living off their estate."

Tony cleaned his plate with a slice of toast. "They're a dying breed. Even Malfoy's taken up a job at the Ministry. Acts like a goody-two-shoes now, attending seminars and remembering birthdays and all that."

"How the mighty have fallen." Harry shook his head. "Anyway, while you were drooling on priceless basilisk leather, I dropped by Padma's and got all the gear we might need. You only have to pack some extra clothes."

"You're not listening," Tony said, waggling a fork in his direction. "I'm not going. You're not, either, if you have any sense left."

"Open your eyes. Accio _Daily Prophet_!" He laid the paper out on the table, the blurry photograph in full view. "The harpies are only sighted every few decades, and no one knows where they disappear to afterward. This is your only chance. Either we go now, or you continue working your soulless job—and thirty years down the road, when you're filing yet another TPS report, you'll remember this day and go, 'man, if only I had listened to my best mate back then'!"

"TSP, actually, for Typical Spell Proficiency." Tony squirmed under his stare. "They're indispensable to regulating correspondence courses like Kwikspell."

He snorted. "Listen to yourself. I know this isn't the life you envisioned. I know your heart yearns for more. I know, because you told me yesterday—and those were your true feelings, unclouded by everyday mundanity!"

"Laying it on a bit thick, mate." Despite his words, Tony's gaze strayed to the photograph, and he swallowed. "You're not taking the piss, are you?"

"I'd _never_ trifle with a bloke's dreams like that," Harry said solemnly. "Are you with me?"

Groaning, Tony rubbed his temples. "My parents were so proud when I got accepted into the Ministry too..." He gave Harry a determined look. "I'll call in sick with spattergroit and grab my stuff. Give me half an hour."

* * *

A couple of hours later found the duo lounging in a booth at the London Portkey Terminal. Harry bounced his knee as he eyed the stretch of rope atop a low table before them with trepidation. The Invigoration Draught he'd taken only made the jitters worse. He had sworn off potions since his Hogwarts days, but getting up at an ungodly seven in the morning warranted a little pick-me-up.

Tony, meanwhile, was whistling a tune. A fool, oblivious of the tribulation that awaited them. "Did you let your godfather know? He'll assemble a search party if you just vanish off the face of the earth like that time with the merrows."

"Spoke to him this morning." Not knowing how long they would be gone, he also left Padma a note to pass on to Hogwarts.

"Oh yeah? What did he say about your latest madcap idea?"

Harry grinned wryly. "He laughed at first. But then he clapped me on the shoulder and wished us godspeed."

"Sirius might not be a man of culture, but he understands," Tony said with a sage nod.

An unseen bell chimed, and Harry's smile was wiped off his face as a disembodied female voice said, "Passengers, please take hold of your Portkey. Departing in ten... nine..."

"Alright! Bratislava, here we come!" Tony whooped, clasping the rope.

Harry followed his example, swallowing as he hoped against hope that the transit would be smoother than the last time he went abroad. Almost too late, he glanced down to make sure his shirt was buttoned and tucked in. Loose, flapping clothes were a suffocation hazard, and wizards being wizards, no one bothered to explain these things beforehand.

"Three... two... one..."

With a characteristic tug behind his navel, he was catapulted skyward at a speed humans had no business traveling at. The rope in his palm yanked him right, left, up, down, nearly wrenching his arm from its socket, until direction lost meaning and he felt like a bug being churned in a washing machine. He squeezed his eyes to shut out the disorienting flashes, but he could do nothing about the hurricane roaring in his ears.

When it felt like his brain had well and truly turned into mush, he was spat out into the real world, landing on his feet by sheer miracle. Wavering, he only remained standing because Tony reached out to support him.

"Welcome to Slovakia!" chirped a set of triplets in white-and-red robes.

Groaning, Harry rubbed his eyes and adjusted his glasses. The triplets coalesced into one woman standing just outside the circular platform he and Tony had landed on. A very attractive woman, for that matter, but he was beyond caring about that.

"Please follow me and ready your wands for registration," she said with a professional smile.

He made an unintelligible noise of assent and allowed Tony to drag him along. His stomach roiled, but due to his foresight, he didn't have anything to spew up. As an insult to his suffering, Tony seemed positively chipper.

"You're not puking," he observed.

Tony frowned. "Why would I?"

"I saw you polish off a full English. I even asked Tom to add extra grease!"

Tony snorted. "Nice try, asshole. Not everybody's a weak-stomached sissy like you."

"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, willing the world to stop spinning. "Just fuck you."

They weaved around other arrival platforms, one of which just received a group of corpulent folk in gaudy shirts who immediately started clapping, until arriving at the wand-weigher. Harry had just enough presence of mind to snatch back his before the receptionist could rattle off its composition, saying that he knew his own wand, thank you very much. Then he located the nearest bench, and did nothing but revel in its stationary nature until he was functional again.

He withdrew a water flask from his malletspace and took a long pull before retrieving the Globetrotter's Map provided by Padma. The square foot of parchment not only held within the entire world map but centered on the current location to boot. He compared it to a cutout from the _Daily Prophet_, where the harpy sighting was marked on a much rougher map. Tony leaned in to watch.

"The nearest town we can Portkey to... here." Harry tapped the name Štrbské Pleso, which was labeled with an encircled wand; according to the map's legend, that meant wizarding presence in a Muggle settlement. "We'll rent rooms and start from there. It's bound to be swarming with tourists, so we won't stand out."

Tony shrugged. "Sounds good."

They queued up for domestic Portkeys behind the party of Dursley-sized people, who were now wolfing down snacks from enormous multi-colored bags. Harry struggled to suppress his nausea. When they finally trooped away, he stepped up to the counter, grimacing as a potato crisp crunched underfoot.

"Good morning, gentlemen," a smiling female clerk said in lightly accented English. "What can I do for you?"

Harry grinned, entertaining the idea of forgetting the whole fuss and relocating to Slovakia until Tony's elbow in his ribs brought him back to reality.

"Hi, we'd like a Portkey to Shtrb... Strbks..." Wondering whose bright idea it was to string all those consonants together, he raised the map and pointed. "Here."

The clerk's gaze lingered on the tea-stained cutout still clutched in his hand. "Certainly, sir. May I ask what the purpose of your visit is?"

"Uh..."

"Snowboarding," Tony piped up.

Her smile wavered. "Snowboarding?"

"Um, yeah. We're big enthusiasts." The clerk still looked skeptical, so Harry added, "It's a Muggle sport where you balance on a plank—"

"I know what it is, sir," she said, her earlier smile nowhere in sight. "The snow season ended months ago."

Repressing the urge to smother Tony, he forced his lips into a smile that rarely failed to work on witches back home. "We knew that, of course. We're just... scouting for good locations. Now, how about that Portkey?"

The clerk glanced to the side before smiling back at him. "Of course. Please wait here, gentlemen."

As soon as she was out of earshot, he rounded on Tony. "_Snowboarding_."

"Always wanted to try it," Tony murmured. He stood on his tiptoes to peer over Harry's shoulder, then blanched. "Don't turn around."

Harry was about to see what the big deal was, but Tony grasped his lapels to keep him still. "_What_?"

"She's speaking to an Auror," Tony mouthed, eyeballing the proceedings. "And another's coming up to them."

"Shit." He rubbed his forehead, lamenting his stupidity; even the damned_ Prophet_ had mentioned the Slovaks were on the lookout for poachers entering the country. "They can't prove anything—probably just going to send us back—"

Tony's grip on his lapels strengthened. "You promised me harpies, mate. I might lose my bloody job for this!"

Taking a deep breath, Harry glanced around the hall. The cute receptionist was welcoming another batch of arrivals, while the gaudily dressed tourists, presumably waiting for their Portkey, were shoveling more snacks into their maws. The exit to the city was a good hundred yards away, in the form of double door reminiscent of Hogwarts's.

"They're coming," Tony hissed.

"Okay... Okay, I need a distraction," he whispered, a giddy recklessness bubbling up inside him. "Get them to look away, even for a moment."

Tony's gaze darted around before he raised his wand, hiding it from the oncoming Aurors behind Harry's torso. He aimed at the group of tourists seated nearby and squinched his eyes.

"Oh my gawd!" screeched a woman rivaling Aunt Marge in girth, and heaved aside her bag of crisps. It landed on the floor with a crunch, and out poured a swarm of spiders, centipedes, and roaches. "They're crawling up my legs! Get 'em off, Joe, get 'em off!"

Amid alarmed cries, Harry produced his invisibility cloak and flung it over himself and Tony, then stuck his wand out through the gap to tie together the shoelaces of a red-robed baldy running their way. The man yelped and went down, his wand clacking to the floor, where Harry affixed it with a Sticking Charm before bidding a hasty retreat—well, as hasty as was possible with him and Tony shortening their strides so their ankles wouldn't show.

An angry voice cut through the din, barking orders. Harry risked a glance back. Ignoring the stampeding tourists, the baldy was pointing at the exit and shouting while scrabbling at his wand. One of his colleagues strode briskly toward the door, while another, having burst out of the loo, went about unsticking the wand from the floor.

Harry pulled Tony into a hobbling run. The exit was an arm's reach away when a siren blared, and a hefty iron portcullis fell over the door with a resounding boom. Swearing, he jerked back his outstretched hand, then gaped at the blue aura enveloping it.

"Stupefy!" a voice cried behind them.

Harry whirled, shielding in the nick of time. The cloak did nothing but hinder his movements now, so he took it in with nary a thought. "Get the door!"

The iron tinkled as Tony rapped it with his wand. "Nothing's working!"

His gaze alternated between the three approaching Aurors. Spells splashed against his shield until it sparkled and gave out. "Protego! Did you try Vanishing?"

"_Duh_," Tony snapped, drumming the metal as if intending to hack it apart.

Harry's eyes widened at the incoming salvo. "Duck!" he yelled, pulling Tony to the floor. A cerulean jet broke his shield, and two simultaneous Stunners splashed against the portcullis above their heads. Returning fire, he groped for the grating behind. He winced as he tried and failed to take it in. "Too heavy!"

Tony thrust out his wand, transfiguring the belt of the closest Auror into a snake and causing him to yell and bat at his crotch. "Give me ten seconds."

"What are—_gah_!" Suddenly finding himself face-to-face with a hulking gorilla, Harry couldn't help but jerk away, which saved him from a Body-Bind Spell that left his nose feeling rather stiff.

The gorilla stomped and roared, making the Aurors step back in unison.

"_Hrom a peklo_," one exclaimed, then yelped as Harry's Disarming Charm wrenched the wand from his fingers.

Allowing the wand to fall next to him, Harry stepped on it to prevent Summoning. Beside him, Tony gripped the bottom of the portcullis and flexed his bulging arms.

The two armed Aurors burst into action. Harry parried three hexes before thrusting his off-hand forward to materialize a rolled-up tent. A swipe of his wand had it rocketing toward the baldy, and a twirl made it unfurl and swoop upon him like a cheerfully yellow Lethifold. As the second Auror hesitated between aiding his colleague and pressing the attack, Harry ended his dilemma with a deft Body-Bind.

Light flashed behind the yellow fabric, and it fell revealing a disheveled and pissed-off baldy. Trampling the squirming tent, the Auror took hurried aim at Harry before casting sideways glances at his incapacitated colleagues. "Drop your wand," he ordered. "Building is locked, you can't leave."

"My poorly endowed friend begs to differ," Harry said.

The Animagus roared again, and with a rattle of metal, the portcullis rose inch by inch. The disarmed Auror goggled before launching into rapid-fire babble; far at the back of the hall, a fireplace flared green, spitting out one red-robe after another. Baldy's eyes met Harry's, and his wand twitched.

"Accio!" Harry snapped, aiming for the tent under the man's feet. Then, squeezing his eyes shut, "Lumos Maxima!"

The flash blinded him through his eyelids, but judging by the frenzied swearing, his opponents fared even worse. Catching and taking in the tent, he stumbled backwards, pushed open the door, and slipped out through the gap.

It was brighter outside, but with the reddish afterimages swimming in his vision, that was all he could tell. Materializing his cloak, he draped it over himself.

"Mate," he called out, "we gotta scram."

There was a beastlike bellow, followed by an almighty clang.

"Where are you?" Tony gasped.

He held up one end of the cloak. "Under here! Can't see shit, you'll have to guide me."

Tony squeezed in next to him, and leaning on his shoulder, nudged him forward. They made perhaps twenty steps before he paused and shifted under the cloak.

"Confundo."

"Pursuers?" Squinting around in alarm, Harry still couldn't see much beyond that they were in some narrow alleyway.

"Muggle," Tony corrected, panting. "Saw us earlier. No problem. Reckon it'll take them a minute to open that door."

"Where are we?"

Tony craned his neck. "Cobbled road, old-timey buildings... Some touristy place." He was silent for a time, breathing heavily as they walked. "Holy shit. I can't believe we did that."

Harry chortled. "You said it. Way to go, Four Centimeters."

* * *

Green plains and cultivated fields sped past the window as the train's wheels beat a steady tattoo. Harry yawned and stretched, then slapped the Globetrotter's Map to prevent it sliding off the tray table he'd bumped with his knee. The adrenaline from their encounter with the local law enforcement had long faded, and he had to resort to copious amounts of coffee to keep going.

"We'll get off here." As he tapped a town called Poprad, the map helpfully centered on it. "Crash at some cheap hotel... Go up into the mountains tomorrow." Going Muggle was their best chance to blend in, but he hadn't brought enough pounds for an extended stay, and he had a feeling the currency exchange at the station had ripped him off. Worst case, they'd have to slum it in a tent and subsist on canned food.

Tony bent over the map. "How about we start here?"

His finger pointed to a tiny dot high up in the Tatras that had the name Zubrovec inked above it in equally tiny script. There were two crossed wands underneath, denoting it as the sole wizarding settlement in the vicinity.

Harry hummed in thought. "Having some information from the magical side would certainly beat combing the countryside blind, but there might be Aurors about."

"Damn, it still hasn't sunk in that we're criminals." Tony ran a hand through his blond hair. "Sorry, mate."

His eyebrows rose. "What for?"

Tony averted his eyes. "You know... fucking up back there. Snowboarding in bloody May—and then I make things worse by insisting we run away."

He waved dismissively. "Forget about it. Frankly, I'm relieved we didn't have to take another Portkey, even if it was only local."

It was Tony's turn to look surprised. "You're way too chill about this. We're wanted men, you know?" His voice lowered on the last words, and he glanced around the half-empty carriage apprehensively.

"What's an adventure without a little danger?" Harry smiled as he fingered the dragon scale pendant under his shirt. How long had it been since he felt this way?

Tony shook his head, but his lips quirked. "You're mental—but yeah, let's do this."


	2. Fantastic Monster Girls, Part 2

Alighting in a grove near the village of Zubrovec, the pair undid their Disillusionment Charms. There hadn't been much to see from above but rows of shingle-roofed houses along an L-shaped street, and the spires of a church adjacent to a graveyard. And sheep, lots of sheep.

The birds were making a racket in the trees overhead, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves. Shivering, Harry stored away his trusty Firebolt and retrieved his trunk. Stooping over it, he muttered, "Ow, bloody thing pricked me."

"Still got that shabby old thing?" Tony asked.

"There's nothing wrong with it." He patted the worn leather fondly before rummaging inside to retrieve robes for himself and Tony. After some deliberation, he also opted for a pointy hat. As foreigners, they were going to stand out anyway, and it would hide his face should they run into a patrol.

"These make me look like a clerk," Tony groused as he donned grey outer robes atop his jacket and jeans.

Harry rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to point out that Tony _was_ one. "I told you I could only fit in one pair. If you wanted to dress up, you should've brought your own luggage."

"Why bother when I have a pack mule?"

Stowing the trunk, Harry flipped him the bird. "C'mon, let's go."

They left the cover of the trees and hiked up a grassy knoll toward a gravel road that would take them to the village. Two colossal mountains loomed to their left, their bases forested and their summits capped with snow. To the right, a flock of sheep grazed in a lush meadow flecked with wildflowers.

Once on the road, it didn't take long to reach the first farmstead: a dilapidated dark brown house beside an ivy-covered barn and a roofed well. A wizened woman wearing a dress and a headscarf sat on a bench under the house's overhanging eaves, her gnarled hands rubbing the handle of her cane, and her lips moving in an unceasing murmur. Harry inadvertently quickened his pace, gravel crunching under his feet.

Cobblestone replaced gravel as they entered the village proper. The twisting street stretching ahead reminded him of Hogsmeade, but there was no bustle of commerce, and the houses were separated by weedy gardens and crooked picket fences. Some homes were built of brick, but wood was more common; the latter tended to have white squiggles painted on them, which Harry eyed wondering if they held any magical meaning.

Rounding a corner, they entered a straighter stretch of the street that led to a square before the church. The homes here were bigger and better-kept, and the pavement was smoother. People tended to their gardens or milled outside the church, and children's laughter rang in the distance.

Harry inhaled deeply. "Ah. Crisp mountain air, beautiful nature, hospitable locals—this is what travel is all about."

"They don't look very friendly to me," Tony murmured, glancing at two women who were glaring openly as they whispered to each other over the fence separating their gardens.

"Nonsense." Harry waved to a little boy, who stopped juggling a football with his knees to gawk at them. "They're not unfriendly, they're just Eastern Europeans."

The door of a nearby building with a sign reading 'Potraviny' flew open, and a harried-looking woman carrying a mesh bag of groceries dashed out. She scowled at Harry and ushered the boy away, muttering under her breath.

"They'll warm up to us, I'm sure," he added with less conviction.

Tony snorted. "And how do we go about accomplishing that?"

"We go to the tavern, obviously."

"The... tavern. Right. And then?"

Harry gave him a pitying look. "I can tell you're new to this. First, we'll ask the barkeep if he heard any rumors. Failing that, we'll find the guy with the longest beard, buy him a drink, and listen to his story. We might need to help the village with their problems before they tell us anything useful."

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. "That's actually not a bad idea. Finding an inn, that is, not the twaddle afterwards. We need to sleep somewhere, and this place looks remote enough not to have a regular Auror presence."

Taking that as approval, Harry walked up to the fence of the nearest home and flagged down the man splitting firewood in his front garden. "Hello there!"

Wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his flannel shirt, the man nodded, his gaze lingering on Harry's hat.

"We're weary travelers seeking shelter and a bracing drink," he continued. "Would you kindly direct us to the nearest inn?"

Behind, Tony made a choking noise.

The man furrowed his brows, then pointed at the church.

Harry stared toward it, then back at the stranger. "I don't think you understand... we want a place to sleep and eat." He pressed his palms together and mimed a pillow under his head.

The man jabbed his finger in the same direction and barked something before thunking his axe into a tree stump, spitting on the ground, and retreating into the house.

"I'm beginning to think you're right," Harry said, facing Tony. "These people _are_ being oddly rude."

Tony gave him a flat stare. "It's your own fault this time, you daft git. This isn't a bloody role-playing game."

"I was just getting into the mood of things," he said sulkily.

Tony sighed. "Well, at least we know where to go."

He frowned. "Isn't it a bit early to start praying?"

Tony raised a hand to point. "The bloke probably meant that."

Taking several steps to the left, Harry shielded his eyes. A two-storey wooden building squatted just right of the low fieldstone wall surrounding the churchyard. A rickety table and a couple of benches perched outside, free of patrons for the moment, but the dingy windows were unshuttered, and the door was ajar.

"Oooh," he said eloquently.

Tony snorted and started walking, Harry following suit. As they neared a small congregation in the square, he was heartened to see some of the locals wearing robes. Everyone else so far had dressed Muggle, and he'd been beginning to suspect the map had lied about this being a wizarding village. Smiling and nodding at the curious glances, he trailed Tony to the pub and through a door weathered by time and the elements.

The inside was nicer than the exterior, with a gleaming walnut counter, shelves lined with assorted bottles, and sturdy oak tables pockmarked through years of use, all arranged across worn hardwood flooring. The cozy, lived-in atmosphere suggested this was the heart of the village, yet for such a place it was oddly deserted. The only people present were a scrawny ginger barkeep and four dark-robed men, who had commandeered the largest table for a game for Dragon Poker.

Harry nudged Tony, who was dithering at the entrance, and headed for the bar. His steps echoed in the silence that had descended upon their entry, and the men in black robes tracked him with their eyes, but he had come to expect such treatment.

The barkeep spared him a glance before pouring a tall glass of beer from the tap. He set it on the counter next to three filled ones, then gathered up the lot to carry to the table, the glasses clinking together. Harry plopped down on a stool to wait.

Catching up, Tony sat beside him and gave him a look. "Let me speak this time."

Harry spread his hands. "Be my guest."

The barkeep dragged his feet on the way back, then busied himself polishing the farther end of the counter with a rag. Frowning, Tony rose and walked up to him.

"Hi. How much for a room, please?"

"No room," the man said, not looking up.

"Er... a single would be fine too," Tony said.

The barkeep raised his head, but rather than look at Tony, his gaze strayed over his shoulder. Harry had the impression the gents seated behind were listening in, for they had gone dead-quiet.

"No room," the barkeep repeated.

Perhaps life as Britain's beloved hero had spoiled him, but Harry at least expected some common decency. "Look, what's the problem here? This place is half-empty, and we can pay." Balling a fist, he materialized a Galleon and tapped it against the counter.

The barkeep strode over to him and leaned closer. "Leave, _now_."

Harry's retort went unuttered as someone grabbed his shoulder. He swiveled around, throwing off a hairy hand and finding himself face-to-face with its owner: a burly bloke with a goatee and a scar across his cheek.

"Bad hearing, Englishman?" The man sneered, revealing several golden teeth. "You're not wanted here."

"I don't see how that's any of your business, pal."

The man crossed his arms, a gaudy ring glinting on his fingers. "You don't know who you're talking to. It's my business if I say it is."

"Oh yeah?" Harry puffed out his chest. "Do _you_ know who you're talking to?" He glanced sideways to make sure Tony had his back but saw him frozen up and white as a sheet.

The stranger barked a laugh. "A dead man, if you don't fuck off."

"Apologies, gentlemen," Tony stammered, tugging Harry away by the collar. "My friend's an idiot."

He made a few involuntary steps before planting his feet. "The fuck are you doing?"

"Saving your life," Tony hissed. Swiping the coin from Harry's palm, he slapped it on the counter before addressing the burly man who watched on with an amused air. "Please have a drink on us, and sorry about the trouble. We're going to fuck off pronto."

"That was a whole Galleon!" Harry groused as Tony dragged him to the exit. The men at the table jeered at their passing, and it was only the panicked look on his best mate's face that prevented him from responding with a few choice words.

"_Be quiet._" Shoving the door open, Tony marched him along the wall surrounding the church and away from bystanders before letting go. "Do you have a death wish? Didn't you see the bloke's ring?"

Harry furrowed his brows. "What, the cow looking thing?"

"A Graphorn, it's a bloody Graphorn! The crest of the Moravetz!" Tony groaned at his blank look. "So you haven't gone mad, you're just a moron. I should've known."

"The hell's a Mooravetz?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Tony glanced around before speaking. "Only the biggest crime syndicate this side of the continent. The _Prophet_ ran a story about a massive shipment of illegal potion ingredients that was confiscated at the Hungarian border last year. Everyone knew it was theirs, but they still got off scot-free. They say the family running it has more than one government in their pockets."

"And I thought our Ministry was corrupt," Harry murmured, raking his fingers through his hair. "Thanks for stopping me, mate."

Tony grinned wryly, some color returning to his cheeks. "Anytime... Actually, no, please never do that again."

"The tavern plan is shot, then," he mused, rubbing his chin. "Suppose we'll just have to ask around."

Tony threw his arms up. "Did you listen to a word I said? The Moravetz are bad news! We need to get out of here."

"No, no, no," Harry said, bringing up a finger. "Don't you see? Those guys deal in black market potions, right?"

"Along with larceny, murder, and general savagery," Tony said flatly.

"The golden egg's supposed to be the main ingredient of a mythical youth potion. So if the Mooravetz are _here_..."

"Moravetz," Tony corrected absently. "For once, your logic is sound, but I'd rather stay as far away from them as possible. Preferably on the other side of those mountains, and even that might not be enough."

"We'll steer clear of them. Snoop around a little, then camp out in the woods. If they're really paying off the Aurors, this is the safest place to be right now."

Tony had a strained expression on his face. "Fine. But if those four so much as look at us again, we get the hell out of the country."

"Deal. Now let's ask around while those pricks are wasting time getting drunk." He scowled. "On _my_ money."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop whinging. It was a small price to pay for keeping your internal organs."

After a brief discussion, the two decided to begin with the grocer's they had passed earlier. As they headed back to the main street, Harry took out a bronze gadget and turned it over in his hands. It had the appearance of a coiled ear trumpet with a pair of stylized lips on the opposing end.

"What's that, a blowjob machine?" Tony asked.

He snorted. "A translator. Thing knows like three hundred languages—I figure it should make communicating with the locals easier."

"Sounds _useful_, so it obviously isn't one of yours," Tony quipped.

Harry gave him a dirty look. "I'll have you know my sandwich maker was a brilliant invention ahead of its time."

"If you got it to work without trying to chop you up, maybe."

"There was that little snag," he admitted, rubbing his left forearm which had fortunately healed without scarring. "But yes, this is a prototype from Patil Expeditions. Padma gave it to me in return for my public endorsement. She's been wanting it for a while, but I rarely travel outside the country."

Tony guffawed. "Or outside your house, for that matter."

"Only because I'm not a wage-slave like some."

Not giving Tony a chance to retort, he marched up to the building sporting the sign 'Potraviny' and pushed open the door, a chime of a bell announcing his arrival. Baskets of vegetables, wheels of cheese stacked atop one another, and smoked meats hanging from the ceiling jostled for space in the dim interior. A stocky, balding shopkeeper behind a counter loaded with assorted knick-knacks raised his gaze off a magazine and did a double-take.

Forcing a smile, Harry approached and stuck out the translator. Its smooth surface lacked anything resembling a button, and he had no clue how one was supposed to operate it, but he had to try it out sooner or later.

"Um, hello," he said.

"_Haló_," the gadget brayed, its metal lips contorting in a rather creepy manner.

The shopkeeper blinked, then echoed, "_Haló_."

"Good day to you," the gadget translated, now adopting a posh accent.

Harry gave it a dubious glance but deemed the test a success. "We're taking a trip through your beautiful country, and were wondering what is there to see around here. Famous landmarks, fun events, that sort of thing."

He waited for the gadget to relay his words, then to translate the shopkeeper's reply.

"Oh no, there's nothing of the sort around these parts," it said nasally. "Zubrovec is but a boring, sleepy village, and the most excitement us simple folk get is the yearly sheep shearing competition. You gentlemen would be better served heading down to Poprad."

While the translation was wordier than the grocer's terse answer, Harry had no choice but to trust it. He reined in his frustration. "We're not interested in tourist traps. I'm talking more along the lines of nature, magical creatures... Beings considered legend."

The shopkeeper spoke in clipped tones, and a translation was delivered a second later. "My good fellow, unless you are deeply fascinated by sheep, there are no exotic creatures for you to see in our village."

"Now, that's not entirely true, is it?" Harry dropped his voice to a near whisper. "A harpy was sighted in the skies not thirty miles from here. Surely you've heard about that?"

The shopkeeper braced his hands against the counter, rose from the chair, and growled out a question. The translator's tone remained incongruously composed. "Good sir, are you implying that I am a liar?"

He raised his hands. "Not at all! Look, I can guess what you're worried about, and I _swear _we're not like that Moravetz lot. We only want to admire the mythical harpies, even if from afar."

There was a silence. Harry frowned at the suddenly lifeless gadget, then shook it vigorously. "Talk, you piece of crap!"

The device obediently brayed out a translation. Splotches of red appeared on the shopkeeper's cheeks, and he sputtered before unleashing a tirade the general meaning of which was obvious even to a foreigner.

"Please, I wasn't talking to _you_—" Harry pleaded.

"I posit that your mother is of the canine persuasion," the gadget said. "Kindly insert the talking apparatus into your anus and vacate the premises posthaste."

"Oh, shut your gob before I stick something in there," he snapped, muffling the bronze lips with his palm.

In spite of his efforts, the device managed to mumble out a translation. Bellowing, the shopkeeper groped about his waist and brandished his wand.

Ducking under a jinx, Harry decided this was a lost cause and fled, smacking his forehead on a ham on the way out. Despite his haste, Tony was the first out the door, having started inching away as soon as the conversation turned south.

Harry slammed the door, muffling the shopkeeper's imprecations, and stalked off. "Bloody thing's useless," he muttered, clenching the gadget as he fought the urge to hurl it through the grocer's window.

"Dunno, I think it's got potential," Tony said, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Now what?"

"We keep going." Giving the translator one last glare, Harry vanished it into his personal dimension. "We can manage a basic conversation, surely."

Contrary to his hopes, the remainder of the day only cemented the sentiment that had been building in his mind: traveling _sucked_. No one seemed to know more than two or three words of English, and Harry's attempts to imitate harpies by flapping his arms had been met with blank looks or a finger circling at the temple. Worse yet, they were barred from the inn, which meant camping out in the wild come evening.

To be fair, wizards did know how to camp in style, and after banging their heads against the stony contempt of the villagers, the experience was almost pleasant. The cans of food became plates, heated up their meals, and offered unsolicited advice on which bits looked the most delicious. All it took to erect the tent was a sweep of a wand, although unfortunately, it wasn't larger on the inside. Harry wasn't certain if it was because storing something enchanted with an Extension Charm in his malletspace was impossible, or because everything inside counted toward the weight limit too, but he hadn't managed to take in any of the wizarding tents Patil Expeditions had on offer. That meant markedly less comfort than he was used to, and he tossed and turned next to a snoring Tony for hours before finally falling asleep.

* * *

The pair woke to a thrum of rain on canvas and a distant rumble of thunder. After breakfast and a brief council, they broke camp and took to the skies on the Firebolt. As dreadful as the weather was, they unanimously preferred scouting the wilderness over another attempt at quizzing the villagers.

It took a couple hours of coasting over muddy foothills for them to call it quits. Ensconced in Impervius Charms as they were, the wind coming off the mountains nipped at every bit of exposed skin, carrying chilly droplets that wormed inside sleeves and leg openings. It didn't help that laden with double the weight it was built for, the Firebolt handled like a wet mop.

Harry steered toward a nearby wood and landed in a relatively dry spot under the canopies. Retrieving a camping tea kettle, he handed it to Tony and untied his shoes with nerveless fingers.

"Ugh, I forgot to charm these," he said, pulling off his waterlogged socks. "I can barely feel my toes."

Busying himself with boiling water, Tony wrinkled his nose. "Shouldn't have worn your fancy brogues, dumbass."

"I reckoned we'd live like kings. So much for Eastern Europe being cheap." He frowned in calculation. While that first night's hotel stay at Poprad had depleted his Muggle cash, he had gold to spare—and nowhere to spend it. "If we don't get anywhere today, let's swing by the nearest wizarding district and exchange some Galleons."

Warmed by the tea, they set course for the location of the harpy sighting. As Harry wrestled with the overloaded broom, he could feel Tony constantly crane his neck, his enthusiasm undamped by the search being fruitless thus far.

"The maps?" Tony asked.

He raised a hand off the slick handle to materialize them. The newspaper cutout soaked up the rain, sticking to the Globetrotter's Map underneath. Pinching them tight, he extended them over his shoulder.

"Er..." Tony said. "A little farther and to the left."

Turning, Harry eked out more speed. The rain lessened with every mile westward, and soon ceased altogether. Sun peeked through the clouds, casting a golden sheen on a glacial lake below.

Tony wriggled, no doubt consulting the map. "We're here."

Halting mid-air, he slowly swiveled the broom a full three hundred and sixty degrees. There was nothing in sight but glimmering meadows and an occasional stand of trees all the way to the looming mountains. He felt silly for getting his hopes up.

"Look!" Tony cried.

Following his extended finger, Harry shielded his eyes. It took him a minute, but once a bank of clouds scudded away, he made out two tiny dots against a patch of clear blue. For one precious moment, he believed their search had come to an end—but then red glinted in a shaft of sunlight, and his stomach plummeted. Glancing around, he dived toward a grove beside the lake.

"What—" Tony yelped.

He landed none-too-gently upon gnarled tree roots. "Aurors!"

Dismounting proved a struggle as his joints had stiffened up during the ride. He rubbed his hands to get some feeling back into them, then hastened to Disillusion himself. Tony aimed a gust of hot air at his soggy hair, making it stick up like a pile of straw, before doing the same.

Huddling behind a tree, they waited in anxious silence as the approaching dots resolved into twin red-robed figures on broomsticks. Harry lifted his wand as they neared, but the precaution was unnecessary: after flying a languid curve over the lake, the Aurors went back the way they came, never glancing at the grove.

He released a pent-up breath. The closest town westward was Štrbské Pleso, their original destination before the whole trouble started. While the patrols might not have been looking for him and Tony specifically, they would have to steer clear of the town's wizarding district. So much for not having to sleep in a tent.

"Shit," Tony's disembodied voice summed up.

Harry busied himself with mounting his invisible Firebolt. His fingers discovered a set of bristles in front, and he impatiently rotated the broom. "Let's get out of here before they come back."

Tony groped around before plopping himself behind him, and up they went. For lack of better ideas, Harry turned back east, with a slant toward the cloud-shrouded mountains to cover new ground.

A couple minutes passed in silence. It began to drizzle again, and Harry fumbled for his collar to flip it up against the wind, scowling at the dreary landscape stretching out below. This was turning into a disaster.

Tony sighed loudly. "Where should we look next?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Hey, you're flying this thing. And, if you recall, I wasn't the one who proclaimed himself a master adventurer."

Harry opened his mouth, but a squall buffeted the broom, and his palms clamped on the handle to steady it. The weather was getting worse the closer they got to the mountains, the sky over the peaks almost black with roiling clouds.

"Well, we're certainly not going there," he said, pivoting east and leaving the mountains to their left.

Tony hummed. "The picture was snapped during a rainstorm..."

"That has to be a coincidence. No one sane would fly in that weather!"

"What if it isn't?" Tony's wand tapped Harry's shoulder, and the oncoming droplets started sloughing off his robes. Unfortunately, the belated Impervius Charm did nothing about the moisture already permeating the fabric.

Harry eyed the storm warily before swerving to meet it head-on. The gale crashed against them, reducing their speed and making it hard to breathe. "You want to scout the mountains, fine, but we do it when it's cleared up. It's pointless trying to spot anything now!"

Tony leaned to speak into his ear. "If some shutterbug spotted her, so can we!"

Water ran off Harry's robes in rivulets and trickled under his collar. Magic or not, he was getting drenched to the bone. He made a mental note to pack a raincoat the next time he decided to cruise through a storm, then scratched it out and wrote 'Stay home, moron'.

"I'm turning around!" he yelled.

Tony's arm tightened around his waist. "A bit longer!"

Gritting his teeth, he lowered his head against the gale. Icy slaps battered his face, the water splashing against his glasses rendering the Darksight enchantment useless. The Firebolt juddered against the headwinds, and every sideward gust made them veer wildly.

There was a dazzling flash straight ahead, followed by a rumble of a thunder three seconds later.

Enough was enough. "We're getting the hell out!"

The broom creaked as he swiveled it around, shaking water off his face. There wasn't much feeling left in his nose, and he lifted a hand to rub it, regretting the action when another flurry nearly made him slide off the slippery shaft.

"Hang on! Can you hear that?" Tony squirmed, heedless of the danger of plunging to his death.

"Hear _what_?"

"It's... it's like a song!"

Forgetting for a moment that they were both invisible, he craned his neck to stare at Tony. "Have you gone mental?"

"I really hear something—that way, go!" Tony twisted, making the broom list to one side. "Your ten o'clock!"

"Mate, I swear—" The words died in Harry's throat as he lifted his head in wonder, listening to a primitive melody that wasn't so much audible over the howling winds, but more a _part_ of them. Navigating entirely by hearing, he pulled slightly to the left.

A streak of lightning raced toward the ground, illuminating the clouds in stark detail, and as his eyes reflexively squeezed shut, an ear-splitting thunderclap followed. Barely a second separated the two, which didn't bode well for their survival.

"I saw something!" Tony bellowed. "There—Lumos Maxima!"

Brilliant white light radiated across the sky, and Harry tried to blink out the afterimage of the lightning arc as he looked around. His gaze passed over a small shape outlined against the leaden sky before snapping back to it. His jaw dropped open, and devoid of his conscious control, the Firebolt started drifting with the wind.

Far in the distance, toward the very center of the thunderstorm, soared a winged feminine figure. She was in constant motion, twirling and somersaulting, folding her feathered arms, then spreading them out again. It looked as though she was being tossed around by the gale, yet miraculously staying airborne.

"Is she in trouble?" he murmured.

Tony couldn't have possibly heard him, but he must've been thinking along the same lines. "She's _dancing_!"

The melody grew more discernible, and Harry realized with a start that it came from the winged woman's throat. While he stared, the gale buffeting them petered out even as the chant steadily built to a crescendo. His skin erupted in goosebumps, and his scalp tingled; he opened his mouth to shout a warning.

Light blazed from everywhere at once, followed by a boom that rattled his bones. His ears rang, and when he dared open his eyes again, he couldn't see anything; either he was blinded, or Tony's light was gone. At least he could still feel the arm clutching his waist.

"Alright, mate?" he shouted, his own voice sounding strangely far away.

"Don't lose her!" Tony's fist thumped his back. "Lumos Maxima!"

The spell returned a measure of visibility, and Harry craned his neck in search of their quarry. He could no longer distinguish the chant amid the howling gale, and chalked it up to his ears being shot; then, his heart skipped a beat as he discovered the true reason it had gone silent.

The harpy was much closer than before, her angular features expressing her shock as she stared in their direction. Every vigorous beat of her wing-arms made her bounce up and down, sending water spraying off her gleaming dark feathers. The deluge didn't seem to trouble her, streaming down her bare skin, the modest curves of her breasts and hips, and all the way to her bird-like feet.

Then Harry blinked, and she was gone.

Dimly registering Tony urging him on, he sought her out and gave chase. She had flattened her arms to her sides and dived at a speed that put his best Wronski Feint to shame, her dark hair billowing behind her. The distance between them grew rapidly, and he leaned forward, pushing the acceleration to the limit.

Wind howled in his ears as they plunged toward the unseen ground, and her lead began to shrink; then she rotated around her axis, cast her gaze in their direction, and spread her wings wide, soaring as they continued to plummet.

Swearing, Harry yanked the broom up, feeling it vibrate as its enchantments labored to brake. The overpowered _Lumos_ wavered as Tony struggled to hold his wand aloft.

"The light!" Harry tilted his head back trying to locate the harpy as he continued pulling up. "Snuff it out and she won't see us!" In these conditions, even their imperfect Disillusionment Charms were as good as the finest invisibility cloak.

"We won't see _her_ either!" Tony shouted.

Grunting, Harry flew straight ahead as he kept his eyes on the harpy above. Where the two of them powered through the gale, she moved _with_ it, darting to and fro in an erratic, irregular pattern. It was taking every ounce of his skill just to not fall behind. He hoped they weren't about to crash into a mountain, for focused entirely on her murky silhouette, he had lost any sense of direction.

"Wait!" Tony yelled. "We won't hurt you!"

Twirling her wings, the harpy spun to fix them with a wild stare. Harry felt Tony shift and saw his lit wand extend over his shoulder.

"Don't!" he exclaimed, not daring to raise his hands off the handle.

The surroundings went dark as Tony extinguished the _Lumos _before a jet of blue streaked toward the harpy, reflecting in the raindrops. As she twisted to avoid it, the light threw her furious face into sharp relief.

Everything went black again. The rain that had been pelting them abated, and the gale subsided so abruptly that Harry overcompensated in steering. A hum resonated in the air, and every hair on his body stood on end.

Materializing his wand, he swept it broadly. "Protego!"

The hum built up in an instant and burst in an explosion of retina-scorching white. A god's hand slapped them out of the sky, sending them hurtling to their deaths. Harry couldn't see, and no sound but the thumping of his pulse penetrated the buzzing in his skull. His left hand tugged on the broomstick to correct the tailspin it had gone into, while his right desperately cast Feather-light Charms at himself and Tony, whose weight he could still feel behind him.

A sudden impact jarred the broom, and he yelped as his fingers slipped off the handle. He managed to scream "Arresto Momentum!" before his world dissolved into pain.

Curling into a ball, he tumbled down, getting walloped by tree branches over and over until his journey ended with a face-plant into soggy moss. He took a second to appreciate that he was alive, then lifted his head to wheeze in a breath.

Coughing, he rose to all fours. His enchanted spectacles had dug into the bridge of his nose painfully, but remained intact, as did the wand he had the presence of mind to clutch to his chest during the fall. He created a light and squinted around until his sight recovered enough to make out the Firebolt stuck in the branches high above. So the essentials had survived; he could now check on the baggage.

"Tony?" he called, lifting the light higher.

A groan came in response, and he crawled around a tree to find Tony slumped against its trunk. He was scratched all over, but at first glance had no serious injuries.

"You alright?"

Tony gingerly patted himself down. "Ugh... I'm in one piece, at least."

Harry raised his left hand and slapped him.

"Ow," Tony said, blinking.

"Yeowch!" Harry contorted as agony lanced through his palm. Dropping his wand, he squeezed his left wrist as if to stifle the pain signals, but it was for naught.

Tony muttered a _Lumos_, and Harry raised his shaking hand. Two of his fingers were bent at an angle. He stared at them dumbly, then scrabbled for his wand.

"Ferula." Splints and bandages appeared out of thin air, forcibly setting his fingers straight with an audible crunch before immobilizing them. "_Motherfucker_!"

"Why did you slap me?" Tony demanded, pale-faced.

He blinked the tears away. "Because I hadn't noticed my fingers were broken, you twat!"

Tony threw his arms up. "Why hit me at all?"

He took a breather to apply a Numbing Charm on his hand. In retrospect, he should've done that _before_ setting the bones, but one lived and learned. "We nearly died because you had the bright idea to attack her!"

"_Attack_? I'd—I'd never, to someone that beautiful..." At Harry's unamused stare, he cleared his throat and straightened up. "That is to say, it was only a Ventriloquism Charm. I wanted to tell her we were friends."

Exhaling, he sank to the ground. "Doesn't matter now, I guess. We have no idea where she went, and I doubt she'll be so careless as to show herself again."

"You mean you didn't see?" Giving him a bloodied grin, Tony cocked his chin to the side. "I happened to be looking in that direction when the lightning struck. The village is not a mile from here."

"Zubrovec again? Why would she fly there?"

"I don't know," Tony said, "but we're going to find out. One way or another, I'm going to make those tight-lipped peasants talk."

* * *

Rain pattered on the slate roof of a walkway connecting the church to a smaller chapel at the periphery of the graveyard. With Tony insisting on staying away from the pub, it was the only place in the village they could find shelter. Harry still wasn't sure whether the locals were cowed into silence, or if they believed him and Tony to be poachers, but no one gave them the time of the day.

Leaning against a stone balustrade, Tony sighed. "They're hiding something, I know they do."

"No shit," Harry said, scratching his bandaged fingers.

"It's been what, three days?" Tony asked. "There might be an owl making its way across the continent to deliver my marching orders."

He grunted noncommittally.

"What I'm getting at is, I've got nothing to lose at this point. I won't return empty-handed."

"You mean dry-dicked?"

Tony snorted. "Honestly, I'd settle for her using her feathers to tickle my—"

"Spare me the details," Harry said, grinning despite himself.

"I'm just saying, she was one fine bird."

He swatted Tony on the shoulder, then winced at the twinge in his hand. Still sore, although not to the point where he would need Numbing Charms.

"Speaking of birds..." Tony trailed off.

Harry followed his gaze to a young woman crossing the churchyard. She wore drab knee-length robes with coattails that swished as she skipped over the puddles. Her collar was buttoned up, presumably to protect from the elements, yet her head was bare, and her chestnut hair hung limp to her slender shoulders.

She stopped just outside the roofed area, and her hazel, almost yellow eyes peered at them from under a fringe matted to her forehead.

"Er, hi," Harry said.

Her gaze flicked to him. "You ask about harpies."

"Yeah," Tony said, perking up. "Can you tell us anything?"

She crossed her arms. "Why you look? You want steal their unborn? Sell to old and rich for make medicine?"

"No way!" Tony sounded horrified. "We just wanted... We were hoping to... Well, meet them, I suppose."

Her eyelids fluttered. "Meet?"

Tony bobbed his head. "To see how they live, speak to them, behold their wonderful forms up close—" He cleared his throat. "Yeah, all that... And to help them."

"Help," she echoed, her brows pinching together.

Tony flourished his wand and said seriously, "To protect their smiles."

She glanced at Harry for clarification, but he just shrugged and smiled.

"I meet men who want money," she said slowly. "Men who want powerful magic. Sometimes men who make photographs. But I never meet men like you." She shook her head. "If you not lie, then you leave. Harpies live in mountains for many many years. They not need help. You want help them, you go home, and say to others you see nothing."

"So they _do_ live in the Tatras?" Tony stepped closer. "How come no one ever sees them? It's an enchantment of some type, isn't it?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she stood her ground despite barely reaching up to his shoulder. "You not leave? You stay and snoop like rats?"

Tony nodded before belatedly pulling a face. "Not the way I would've put it, but yes."

Her jaw clenched as she looked them in the eye. "Then I take you." Pivoting, she bounded off over the soggy grass.

Harry and Tony exchanged a long look.

"Follow," she said over her shoulder.

Shrugging, Tony hastened after her. Harry materialized his pointy hat before catching up, the raindrops drumming against the brim and sluicing off its edges. While suspicious, this _was_ their only lead.

"So, what's your name?" Tony asked, drawing level with her. "I'm Anthony, and this dapper chap is Harry." He outstretched his hand.

"Lenka." Not sparing him a glance, she pranced toward the fieldstone wall encircling the church.

Tony sheepishly stuck his hand back into his pocket. "Nice to meet you. Where are you taking us?"

With a flutter of her coattails, she vaulted over the wall. Pausing, she extended a finger toward the closer of the two looming mountains.

Harry pressed his lips together as he gauged the distance. "Couldn't we Apparate?"

She shook her head and started moving again. The men clambered over the wall with less grace and fell in step.

"Er, why?" Harry asked when it became apparent she wasn't going to elaborate.

She scowled. "I need... remember way. Quiet."

Harry and Tony exchanged another uneasy glance yet stayed silent. They trudged across the meadow that bordered the village, the dewy grass soaking their trouser legs, then entered a winding, muddy path through the woods. The path sloped down, evened out, then started rising again. The trees became sparser, and out of their cover, the drizzle fell on their heads again.

Harry watched Lenka's wet locks swing in rhythm with her sprightly steps. "Doesn't the rain bother you?"

He almost expected her to snap at him, but instead, a smile flitted across her lips, making her look pretty in a wild sort of way.

"No," she said, her voice tinged with amusement. Then, as if catching herself, she faced forward and quickened her steps.

As they neared the base of the mountain, stunted shrubs gradually replaced the trees, thinning out the higher they went. Harry tilted his head back; the peak was hidden beyond steely clouds.

"Hope we aren't going to climb all the way there," he murmured.

Silent, Lenka continued ahead. The incline steepened so much they struggled to keep up, but before Harry could ask her to slow down, she abruptly turned right. There was no visible trail, but her feet skipped over the lichen-covered rocks without slowing. Harry's every other step sent small avalanches of pebbles down the slope, and after slipping and nearly following them, he fixed his gaze down to watch his footing.

Bumping into Lenka's back, he muttered an apology and lifted his head. At first, he couldn't understand why she had stopped, but then he followed her gaze up the rock face. There were crumbling, uneven steps—whether shaped by man or nature, he couldn't tell—that led to a pitch-black cave.

"The harpies live _there_?" He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't something quite so... unromantic.

She gave him a derisive look. "Secret passage."

Tony bounced in place. "Where does it lead?"

She waved her hand vaguely at the peak, then worried her lip. "They angry and they hurt you if you go in their home. I give last chance, you leave and forget."

Harry eyed the jagged edges of the cave mouth. He doubted their pint-sized guide was capable of overpowering him and Tony, but anything could happen in a dark cave that led god knew how deep under the mountain. The whole thing smelled fishy.

"I'm sure we'll be able to talk it out," Tony said, grinning. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

She squared her jaw and nodded before scaling the uneven stairs. Harry grasped Tony by the arm, making him halt mid-step.

"Be careful in there," he hissed, watching Lenka climb without a backward glance.

"Relax, I'll have my wand pointed at her back," Tony said, his eyes glinting. "We're close, I can feel it. New frontiers, mate!" Yanking his sleeve out of Harry's grasp, he took off.

Harry followed at a more sedate pace. "Make sure it's the right wand you're pointing."

Lenka slipped through the narrow entrance first, and the two squeezed in after her. The patter of rain that had accompanied them for the better part of the day ceased, and only the shrill whine of the wind remained. The cave broadened past the entrance, enough that all of them could've walked abreast, but by unspoken agreement, Harry and Tony let their reticent guide go first.

Tony lit his wand, waving it around as he peered at the craggy passage. Harry didn't emulate him, preferring to hold on to the wall as he inched down the scree-strewn slope. His splinted left hand rose to brush a stalactite as he ducked underneath.

The floor gradually evened out, and the whistle of the wind died down, leaving only the echo of their footsteps and the occasional drip of moisture. Straightening up, Harry squinted ahead, but with Tony's _Lumos _nearby_,_ the enchantments on his spectacles were ineffectual. Lenka advanced briskly; it was obvious this wasn't the first time she came this way, and he furrowed his brow as he pondered the implications.

The cave widened, the ceiling still hanging claustrophobically low, but the walls stretching out until they vanished in the gloom. The sound of dripping water came more frequently. Lenka looked around before prancing onward, and Tony's wand soon cast light upon an alcove about the size of Harry's old bedroom at Privet Drive. It appeared to be a dead-end, yet Lenka stepped in and began running her palms over the half-circular wall.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose at a whiff of something rotten.

"Hidden..." Making a frustrated noise, she slapped the rock. "Push, open passage."

"So a button or a lever." Staying put, he cast his gaze about.

"We'll help you look," Tony said, holding his wand higher.

Perhaps it was Tony's enthusiasm infecting him, but as Harry scanned the rough walls, his wariness receded, and before he knew it, he stepped into the alcove for a closer look. When his gaze landed on a reddish smudge not a minute later, he grinned victoriously. It was some kind of a glyph, too faded to make out; the stone around it protruded slightly.

"Reckon I found it," he said proudly, making Tony bring the light over. He glanced at Lenka. "Is this it?"

"Yes. Push very very strong." She raised her small hands and shrugged apologetically.

"But of course." He gave the stone knob a good shove; a hairline crack appeared around it as it sunk in a couple of millimeters before jamming.

Tony planted a hand beside his. "Let me."

"I got this," Harry said, eager to show off his manly strength. Kneeling down, he placed both palms over the knob and pushed hard, driving it into the rock with a grinding noise. His arms shook with the strain. "Anything... happen yet?"

"No," Tony said, "you must not be doing it right—"

There was a crash of shattering glass, and it wasn't immediately that Harry realized it had nothing to do with the passage they were attempting to open. Letting go of the knob, he whirled around to find shards of a bottle scattered in a puddle of purplish liquid on the floor. A cloying herbal smell filled his nostrils: valerian, asphodel, and nastier stuff he vaguely recalled from Potions.

"Hey, you dropped a... something," Tony mumbled, sinking to his knees.

"Don't b-breathe it," Harry stammered, his tongue numb and his head spinning. Lifting his gaze, he saw Lenka at the entrance of the alcove with her sleeve pressed over her nose.

He lunged at her, his angry shout coming out as a wheeze, but his muscles gave out and he slumped prone. Lenka's eyes glinted yellow in Tony's dying wandlight, watching him scrabble closer. When he extended a hand toward her, a gust of wind swept past her impassive form, thrashing her robes before slamming into him with inexplicable strength. He felt himself hurtle backward until the back of his head hit stone.


	3. Fantastic Monster Girls, Part 3

_Shrrrick, shrrrick._

_Shrrrick, shrrrick._

The noise dragged him relentlessly into the waking world. Drawing a shuddering breath, he gagged at the reek of blood and shit. His eyelids flew open. In a sliver of clear vision, a dark figure stood hunched under a flickering light; the rest was a blur. He attempted to lift his hands to adjust his glasses, then winced when a rope cut into his wrists. Tied behind the back.

Regarding the figure with apprehension, he forced his disoriented mind to think. Memories were slow to trickle into his heavy, swollen skull. Fighting off nausea, he swung his head back and forth to settle his askew glasses onto the bridge of his nose.

He almost wished he hadn't.

A guttering candle set in a niche cast its feeble light on what looked like a natural cavern. The rag-swathed figure had its humped back to him and was honing a pair of rusty cleavers against each other. Before it stood a rough-hewn table atop which gleamed something golden. To its right, lined along the wall, squatted misshapen barrels filled to the brim with things that didn't belong outside a body.

Swallowing back bile, Harry averted his eyes from the dark puddles that had formed on the floor underneath. He craned his neck to look around, then released a shaky sigh when he saw Tony, still in possession of all his limbs, slouched in a corner. Pushing toward him with his tied legs, he took stock of his inventory; finding his wand inside his malletspace nearly made him faint with relief.

It took six kicks before Tony finally stirred. "Papi," he mumbled with a dopey smile.

Harry added another kick for a nice, magically powerful number.

"Bwuh?" Tony exclaimed, his eyes shooting open. "Whass tha' stench?"

The rhythmic _shrrricks_ ended in an abrupt clang, and the figure turned about, treating Harry to the sight of the ugliest physiognomy he had seen in his life. Sickle-sized warts protruded from its wrinkled, grubby skin, its misshapen potato of a nose crooked off center and overgrown with swampy nostril hair that dangled to its scabbed lips. One jaundiced eye bulged, while the other was hidden under an eyelid that sagged with the weight of an oozing boil.

"Holy shit," Tony breathed, "it's a hag."

Harry giggled. "I _noticed_."

Tony sent him a perturbed glance. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Watching the creature shuffle toward him, he gave the question serious thought. "Hmm. Reckon I might have a concussion."

The hag hobbled up to him and pinched his cheek with its gnarled, yellow-nailed hand. He tilted his head back, his fingertips brushing the coarse rope tying his wrists to make sure he could vanish it at a moment's notice.

"Pasty and succulent," the hag croaked. "Not as tender as a child, but no leathery farmer either—your meat will make a yummy feast."

He stilled. "Huh... How come it's a bloody hag who speaks the best English around these parts?"

She leaned over him, and her putrid breath made him dry-heave. "Going to begin with your soft fingers, always a delicacy. Nibble off the skin, gnaw on the flesh, suck the marrow out of your juicy bones..."

Harry thrust his pelvis at her. "I got a juicy bone for you right here."

Her double chin wobbled in laughter. "Feisty, you are. Just the way I like them." Turning, she limped back to the table. "Mayhap I'll start with your friend, let your fear settle in... Fear always makes the meat that much sweeter."

"Mate, this isn't funny," Tony yelled as the hag picked up the cleavers. "Stop messing around and fucking blast her!"

"If you insist," he drawled. Pulling his bindings into his malletspace, he extended his right hand and materialized his wand. "Confringo!"

The hag barely opened her jagged maw before her upper body exploded, the spray of gore extinguishing the candle and plunging the cavern into darkness. Harry's glasses helpfully adjusted, showing him the chunks that splattered the table... and the crimson stain on the wall... and the pinkish blob that clung to the ceiling...

_Squelch_.

Well, the floor, now.

Wrenching his gaze away, he cleaned the blotches of blood off his robes before applying a Bubblehead Charm. The fresh air tasted unimaginably sweet.

"A... a little help?" Tony called out.

"One sec." He created a light for Tony's benefit, just in time for the hag's lower half to teeter and slump over with a wet thud.

"Bloody hell," Tony muttered, going green in the face. Taking short, rapid breaths, he stared assiduously at his lap while Harry freed him. "When I said _blast_, I meant it as a figure of speech. Couldn't you have used a nice clean Stunner?"

Vanishing the ropes with a tap, Harry tilted his head. "Are you seriously feeling sorry for a man-eater?"

"No, but I definitely feel sorry for myself for seeing that." Tony's hand dipped into his robes to retrieve a handkerchief, which he pressed over his mouth and nose. "See my wand anywhere?"

Harry went over to siphon the gore off the table. Once its scarred surface came into view, he discovered five wands along with a Potions knife, four golden teeth, and a fat ring with a Graphorn relief on its face. Appropriating the other wands, he extended Tony's back to him. "Oi, take a look at this."

"The Moravetz crest! She must've tricked them too... but then, where..." Tony's gaze zeroed in on the barrels. "Oh hell_._" The color drained from his face, and bracing himself against the table with one hand, he doubled over and vomited.

"Looks like they met"—Harry pushed up his glasses—"a _graphic_ end." He frowned when all he got in response was violent retching. "Who's a weak-stomached sissy, again?"

"You're going to bring that up _now_?" Tony said hoarsely, before ducking his head to cough and spit.

"Oh, toughen up." Despite his feigned nonchalance, he studiously avoided looking at the barrels. "As soon as you're done puking your guts out, we'll give these poor sods a burial and return to the village wands blazing. Lenka has a lot to answer for."

* * *

They emerged in the middle of the gravel road with a reverberating crack of double Apparition. Not a soul was in sight, but wisps of smoke were rising gently from the chimneys of the houses ahead, their roofs colored orange by the impending sunset.

"Sure you're alright?" Tony asked. "That's a pretty big lump on your head."

Harry probed the back of his head. "I'm fine. Strike while the iron's hot, and all that."

Tony nodded, tiny sparks shooting out of his wand as he tapped it against his thigh. "So what's the plan?"

"If she's here, bag and tag." He started walking along the road. "If not... well, I'm sure _someone_ will take exception to our presence, and we can just direct our questions at them."

A set of crunching footsteps joined his. "What, we're going to just waltz in there?"

"I'm not above making lots of noise and threatening to level some buildings. Whatever it takes to smoke her out." Harry's wand appeared in his palm, and he clenched it tight. "She can do weird wandless magic, so try to knock her out from a distance."

Tony made a strangled noise. "Not that I'm not plenty pissed off myself, but I'd rather not fight an entire village."

They neared the farmhouse on the outskirts, under the eaves of which the crone they had seen a couple days ago sat like a permanent fixture. At their approach, she stood and hobbled indoors, clutching her back and making unintelligible noises of distress.

Harry waved in her direction. "How many people have you seen carrying wands around here? I bet less than a quarter are actually magic. The rest are just living in the know."

"A shovel over the head would still hurt," Tony murmured, eyeing one such implement propped against the nearby barn. Nevertheless, he stayed at Harry's side as they strode openly into the main street.

Unlike the periphery, the center of the settlement teemed with locals enjoying the balmy evening after the day's toil. Children were playing hopscotch, filling the air with laughter. The windows of the houses shone with warm light, and appetizing smells wafted through the air.

They walked several dozen steps down the street before a surly man smoking outside his door spotted them. The cigarette fell from his lips as he stared at the wands in their hands before yelling to his neighbor.

More people turned their way, and a palpable wave of dread washed over the village. Mothers ushered their children indoors, window shutters banged closed, and in no time at all, the street became deserted. A little dumbfounded, Harry had to remind himself to keep moving as his gaze flitted around in search of Lenka's tangled brown mane.

As they passed the bend in the road, he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, and his wand twitched to envelop them in a shield. Tearing it down as soon as the hex was blocked, he aimed at an ajar window of the cabin the attack had come from.

"Glacius."

The cone of glacial wind slammed the window fully open, coating the glass with rime and freezing stiff the curtains behind it. Swearing rang out inside. Harry kept a watchful eye on the cabin as he resumed walking, but no further attack came.

"She's over there!" Tony shouted loud enough to alert every last corner of the settlement.

Harry's head swiveled forward, and he broke into a run. Lenka stood in the front garden of a large house at the edge of the square, in the company of a rotund man with grizzled hair and the fanciest robes he had seen on a local. The man tugged her toward the house by her upper arm, speaking insistently, even as she dug her heels in and yelled at him.

Skidding to a halt, Harry flourished his wand and chanted a single verse of the Anti-Disapparition Jinx; it would only last a minute, but he hoped it would be enough. He then rushed after Tony, who was sprinting ahead like a man possessed.

Their approach stirred the locals into action. Lenka whirled around and vaulted over the fence, taking off across the square. The man was less sprightly, exiting through a gate and trampling onto the middle of the road with his wand raised.

"I won't let you hurt her!" His stubbly jowls quivered as his aim alternated between Harry and Tony. "Leave my village, butchers!"

Harry snapped off a Stunning Charm on the go; the man parried, but Tony's simultaneous Trip Jinx caught him in the flank, and as he flailed his arms to regain balance, a second jet of crimson laid him low.

"That's bloody rich, coming from you people," Harry snarled, resisting the urge to kick him as he passed. He consoled himself with the thought that the old fart was going to wake up with one hell of a headache after that fall.

Tony didn't waste his breath, his shoes steadily pounding the pavement. Lenka was almost across the square now, her coattails flapping as she bounded over the puddles from the recent rain. Harry put on a burst of speed as his extended wand spat out one Jelly-Legs Jinx after another; none connected, but it forced Lenka to glance over her shoulder and dance out of the way.

Lungs pumping like bellows, he urged his burning legs on. She neared the boundary of his Anti-Disapparition Jinx, and even if he tried to renew it, he was so winded he was likely to muck up the incantation.

Running up to the churchyard wall, Lenka jumped, but a jab of Tony's wand made groping hands burst out of the fieldstone and grab at her. Lenka crashed into them with a cry, then kicked off the wall, yanking her robes out of their stony grip and falling onto the pavement.

If she was hurt, she didn't show it, flipping over before the hands could reach her and dashing off along the wall. Tony continued reshaping it to bar her way, the grabs of the transfigured hands almost lecherous. It seemed less a structured spell and more a manifestation of his desires.

Harry worried for his best mate sometimes.

Tony grunted in frustration as Lenka continued weaving through the hands like an an acrobat, slowly but steadily pulling ahead, until she slipped out of his range. Harry reached within for a last burst of speed before sliding to a halt and taking aim. His Stunner grazed her shoulder, and her left side drooped. Stumbling toward the wall, she slapped a palm atop it in preparation to vault over, but the pavement underneath her morphed into a tentacle that wrapped around her ankle. A cry escaped her lips, curtailed by another Stunner hitting her between the shoulder blades.

"Nice," Tony gasped, running up.

Harry clutched a stitch in his side, panting. "Right back at you."

Straightening up, he shuffled toward Lenka. Slumped in a puddle that soaked the midsection of her robes, she looked frail and pitiful, but he only had to recall the cold emptiness of her eyes when she left them to die to make his blood boil.

He stooped to brush his fingertips against her wrist, and her body vanished. Metal jingled as her clothes collapsed, and a golden chain spilled out from under her collar. He pulled her robes aside to reveal an amulet inscribed with illegible symbols centered around what looked like a reverse _Mannaz_ rune.

"Don't touch it," he warned, nudging the amulet aside with his wand.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Contrary to your opinion, I _can_ keep my mitts off gold."

"Good to hear you're making progress." He poked Lenka's sodden clothes to stow them. "Wrap the thing in a handkerchief and levitate it into your pocket."

Tony did just that before straightening up. "Mate, you might want to hurry."

"Why?" he asked, fishing a pair of knickers out of the puddle.

"Over there."

Tony pointed to the opposite side of the square, where a veritable mob was forming around the fart in fancy robes. His head was bandaged and another man was supporting him by the shoulders, but he appeared to be out for blood, clutching his wand as he glowered in their direction. Many others held wands too, but some carried pitchforks, axes, and torches.

Harry didn't find the sight amusing in the least, especially after the old man gave a furious shout, and the mob began advancing. Rising, he squeezed his eyes shut and felt for the jinx he had erected.

"My jinx doesn't reach here." Why had Lenka chosen to run instead of Apparating? He shook his head. "Go, _now_."

Tony nodded and spun on the spot, vanishing with a soft pop. Harry swept his gaze over the angrily jabbering locals before following suit.

He reappeared in a secluded forest clearing where they'd left the tent, the surroundings darkening for an eyeblink before his spectacles adapted. Seeing Tony nearby, he slid down against a tree trunk with a relieved groan.

"Mission fucking accomplished."

Tony squatted beside him. "You realize this is kidnapping, right? If the Aurors merely wanted to question us before, they'll now be looking to chuck us into whatever the Slovak counterpart of Azkaban is."

Harry waved him off. "I have a feeling the locals knew exactly what Lenka was doing. No way they'll be calling the authorities... they might search for us themselves, though."

"Well, they won't find us here," Tony said, rising. "Let me add a couple more wards just in case before we get started."

The words rang ominously in Harry's ears, and he asked himself how far he was willing to go. Without Veritaserum, and neither of them being a master Legilimens, their options were limited to making threats and following through. He shook his head; they would ask their questions and see what came of it. Despite what everyone around here seemed to think, they weren't thugs.

He looked into his malletspace and frowned. While he couldn't put his finger on it, he had felt from the outset that something set Lenka apart from the other villagers, and that impression only grew stronger up close. Yet there was nothing remarkable about her bare form, save perhaps for the hue of her eyes and her wiry physique. From what he could gauge, she weighed even less than her petite frame suggested, as if she were some kind of...

"Bird," he whispered. "Merlin's balls."

Tony paused in his pacing around the clearing. "You say something?"

"It's her, man. It's _her_!"

Tony blinked. "Yeah, the callous bitch who lures people into traps and leaves them to be eaten. I'm about done, so get her out and let me give her the what for."

"Lenka's the harpy who blasted us out of the sky!" Now that Harry knew what to look for, he wondered how he'd missed the resemblance to begin with. There even were dark specks dotted across the back of her arms.

"How's that even..." Tony glanced down at his breast pocket. "The amulet!"

He nodded. "My thoughts exactly."

Tony flash-stepped across the clearing and grasped his shoulders. "Get her out."

"Okay, okay, hold your Hippogriffs." Slipping out of the painful grip, he stepped aside, and under Tony's unblinking stare, laid down Lenka's robes so she wouldn't have to sit on the damp ground. "She should still be conked out, but be prepared for anything, alright?"

Tony bobbed his head and motioned him to get on with it; he didn't seem to have grasped Harry's words at all. Extending his hand, Harry brought her out.

Back under the influence of time, Lenka's body began transforming before her butt even plopped down on the robes. Long dark feathers sprouted across the back of her arms, rustling softly as they formed wings. Her fingers elongated slightly and her nails became talons, but her hands retained their shape. Her feet underwent a more drastic change, turning into four-toed claws, their pebbly texture giving way to tan skin halfway up her calves. A patch of downy feathers below her slim waist preserved her modesty. Her hair remained a mess of brown locks, and her face only gained a little aquiline sharpness.

"I'm _so_ glad you convinced me to come," Tony breathed.

Harry wrenched his eyes away. His own interest had been entirely scholarly, of course. "You're still up for this, right?"

"Yeah," Tony said, shrugging off his robes, "but let's cover the poor thing up first. It's wrong to ogle her like this."

Harry watched with amusement as Tony struggled to thread Lenka's feathered arms through the too-narrow sleeves before settling for draping the robes over her front. "Whatever happened to 'callous bitch'?"

"I'm sure she had very good reasons." Tony met his incredulous stare. "Think about it. From her perspective, she was just protecting her kin. I wonder how many of them there are..."

"Why don't we ask her?" Harry trained his wand on Lenka. "Incarce—"

Tony slapped his hand down. "Don't!"

He clicked his tongue. "Look at those wings! We gotta tie her up before we wake her."

Tony stood his ground. "I'm not letting you _defile_ her with that spell. Let me."

"Heh, right." Harry found himself speculating how his version of _Incarcerous_ would've worked on Lenka given the anatomical differences. Ollivander _did_ say his wand was highly adaptable...

"Done," Tony said, shaking him out of his (again, purely academic) contemplation. Rather than use the spell, he had conjured a length of silk and manually tied her wrists and ankles. "I'll wake her now."

Harry doubted the thin material would hold up to much force, but rather than voice his concern he simply readied his wand. "Go for it."

Tony touched the tip of his wand to Lenka's forehead. "Rennervate."

Her taloned legs kicked violently as her eyes flew open. It took several seconds for her to cease flailing, and she gaped at the clearing before narrowing her gaze at the wizards before her.

"Hello, Lenka." Harry tapped his wand against his bandaged palm. "You must be surprised. That was the second time you tried to kill us, after all."

"They give me weak potion," she snarled. "Next time I drop you off mountain."

He set his jaw. "The locals are in cahoots with you, then. Does everyone know you're leading people to their deaths?"

"Monsters, not people!" She lunged forward, not batting an eye when Tony's robes slid off her shoulders. "Monsters who kidnap and torture my sisters! Hunt unborn child of queen!"

"For the last time, woman, we're not like that," Tony said exasperatedly. "We're not out to hurt you!"

She stared at him, then shook her head slowly. "You almost die, and still not leave. Greed shine in your eyes. All bandits same."

"I don't think that's greed you're seeing, exactly," Harry muttered.

Tony crouched down level with her eyes. "Please, how can we prove it?"

The momentary surprise on her face was replaced by a feral grin. "Let me go and we friends, yes?" She extended her wrists.

Harry laid his left palm on Tony's shoulder to hold him back. "Yeah, not happening."

"I know from beginning you lie," she spat. "I never betray my sisters! I say nothing!"

Tony shot him a glare before attempting to calm Lenka down, but she no longer listened, tossing about and tugging at her bindings. Harry eyed the silk with newfound respect; despite losing his head over a harpy, Tony's conjurations were still top notch.

Wind picked up, rustling the leaves overhead, and soft patter of rain followed. He sighed. It looked like it was going to be a frigid and sodden night.

"Stop squirming, you'll catch a cold," Tony said, holding up his robes. Lenka lifted her head sharply, and he tucked them over her shoulders. "That's better—"

She bent forward, parting her lips to let loose a shrill cry, and Tony swore as his efforts were undone.

Harry wiggled a finger in his ear. "What was _that_ for?"

She craned her neck back and cried again, her voice rising in pitch and echoing across the forest.

"Oi!" He lifted his wand. "Stop it or I'm silencing you."

An answering cry came from the distance. Startled, Harry looked skyward. The rain was intensifying, and the treetops were swaying in the wind. He glared at Lenka, who was drawing in a deep breath, and fired off a much-belated _Silencio_, but it did nothing to wipe the smugness off her face.

His gaze alternated between her and the tent before settling on the latter, and he set about stuffing the luggage into his malletspace. With Lenka out in the open, her sisters shouldn't be as keen to fling lightning at them.

Halfway into his task, he glanced at Tony, who was traipsing around with his wand out. Rather than erect more protections, he kept watching the skies with a yearning expression, and for some reason, fiddling with his hair.

"What did you put up?" Harry asked. "Can they find us?"

Tony shook his head distractedly. "Not unless we leave the perimeter. They'd see nothing but trees from the outside."

Harry finished gathering the gear and checked on Lenka. She was peering upwards with a look of concentration on her face, her chest heaving with deep breaths despite her sitting still, and after indulging in a moment of lechery, he averted his eyes.

The murmur of rain became a constant thrum, interspersed by gusts of howling wind. He retreated under the the nearest tree to don his pointy hat. The Impervius Charm placed more than a day ago hadn't faded during its time inside the pocket dimension, and a fleeting thought that he could somehow exploit this crossed his mind.

A screech came from the skies, much louder than before. Raising his wand, he looked up, but between the sheets of rain and the dense foliage, he saw nothing.

"She sounded so close," Tony said wistfully.

Harry gave him a flat stare. "Don't do anything stupid."

He glanced again at Lenka, then furrowed his brows. She had managed to rise and hop a few yards, but rather than flee, she simply stood in the middle of the clearing, panting as her sinewy muscles tensed. He trained his wand at her. What was she doing?

Another screech reverberated, a little farther away, and Harry craned his neck to ascertain the direction. Its echo was suddenly drowned out by a rising roar, and his gaze flicked back to Lenka. A whirlwind surrounded her feathered form, picking up pine cones, twigs, and soon her and Tony's robes, whipping her hair around her contorted face.

"Stupefy," he incanted, but a lash of wind stung his eyes and threw off his aim. The whirlwind swelled into a tornado, tugging at his sleeves and nearly plucking his wand from his fingers. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Lenka stiffened and toppled as she stood, yet the wind surged stronger still; staggering backwards, he hugged a tree trunk for support. It wasn't a moment too soon, for the tornado exploded resoundingly, bending the trees around the clearing outward with creaks and cracks, and ejecting the debris it had gathered into the skies.

The rain that had ceased for a second resumed with renewed intensity, and Harry patted his head to find his favorite pointy hat missing. Lightning blazed overhead, and as he raised his head sharply, he fancied he spied a winged silhouette under the clouds.

"Alright, mate?" he yelled, pushing off the lopsided tree. Successive cries came from above, different in tone—two harpies were on their trail if not more. He edged towards Lenka's prone form, squinting against the downpour.

"What the..." Tony exclaimed, limping into sight as he brushed twigs out of his windswept hair. "I didn't know they could do that!"

One more flash came, and this time Harry unmistakably saw a humanoid figure soaring above. She must've followed the shockwave, for she flew in circles without straying too far from the clearing.

Harry pointed up. "Stop being so impressed and get ready for a fight."

Tony laid a palm atop his forearm. "We can't! If we hurt them, they'll never believe us."

He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Tempted as he was to discard Tony's opinion when it came to the harpies, his words held merit.

As he racked his brain for a way to communicate their peaceful intent, there was a whoosh of air, and the harpy he had spied descended into the clearing, the beaded braids of her auburn hair fluttering with the beats of her wings. Her eyes widened as they centered on Lenka and the two wizards looming over her, and with a shriek, she swooped down, twisting mid-air to extend her clawed feet at Harry.

"Ventus!" The gust of wind blew her back. There was something satisfying about using elemental magic against its master.

"I said no fighting!" Despite his reprimand, Tony didn't even look at Harry, his gaze glued to the copper-plumaged newcomer who flapped her wings to steady herself, her angular face a mask of hate.

He squinted at the rainy skies, spying another flier approaching. "What do we do then, smartass?"

Tony continued to stare at the harpy as though transfixed. When she pounced at them again, he stepped forward and waved frantically. "Hey, stop! We just want to talk!"

To Harry's utter lack of surprise, she didn't slow her dive in the least; he jerked his wand up to release another gust, making her talons rake the air rather than Tony's kisser. "Get real, they're not here to chat!"

Wrenching his gaze away from the fliers, Tony crouched next to Lenka, who glared at him mutely. "I know you don't believe me, but we're not enemies," he said in a disheartened voice. "Finite Incantatem."

She wriggled away, spewing a stream of obscenities only half of which was recognizable English; some didn't sound like a human language at all.

"Please tell the others we want to help," Tony pleaded, but her imprecations drowned out his words.

Harry tracked the two harpies circling overhead with his eyes. "Now what?"

Rising to his feet again, Tony said the first sensible thing since they arrived in the forest. "We run."


	4. Fantastic Monster Girls, Part 4

Raucous birdsong woke Harry at what felt like the crack of dawn. Squinting blearily at the light filtering through the fabric of the tent, he considered a local Silencing Charm before deciding against it. With his muscles stiff and sore from yesterday's exertions, he didn't feel like moving an inch—and Tony, judging from his snores, didn't mind the incessant chirping in the least.

Ensconced warmly in his sleeping bag, he thought back to yesterday's ignominious rout. They had torn through the underbrush with little regard as to where they were going so long as the trees sheltered them from the pursuers. Tony kept yelling that they meant peace until he went hoarse, but after lightning split a nearby beech in half, even he had enough, and they Apparated a mile deeper into the forest. Even then, the wildly modulated cries continued to echo in the skies. He could almost hear them ringing in his ears still...

Bolting upright, he held his breath. As birds continued to twitter outside, he thought he might have been hearing things—but then a fragment of a cry drifted to his ears. It sounded both similar and different to those last night: unmistakably belonging to a harpy, yet more distressed than furious.

He shook Tony's shoulder. "Oi, get up. Do you hear that?"

The snores cut off as Tony grunted and cracked his eyes open. Met with Harry holding a finger to his lips, he froze.

"_What_?" he asked after half a minute had passed.

"Just listen!" Harry tilted his head, straining his ears—_there_, another faint scream in the distance.

"That's... that's the redhead from yesterday." Tony stayed still for a moment, then peeled himself out of his sleeping bag. "She must be in trouble!"

His eyebrows rose. "Since when can you tell their voices apart?"

Tony wasn't listening as he unzipped the tent and clambered out. Slipping into his shoes, he stood and craned his neck. Harry scooted towards the entrance, yawning.

Tony spared him a glance. "What are you doing? Get dressed and fetch me my robes!"

He stared. "Do you even know where to go?"

"Give me a minute," Tony said with an expression of deep concentration.

Rolling his eyes, Harry chucked Tony's robes over his head. Ignoring the ensuing shout, he got up, pulled on jeans and a shirt, and splashed his face with conjured water, snorting as some went up his nose.

"Reckon I've got it," Tony said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Come on, they might need our help!"

Robes draped over his shoulders, Tony strode off without a backwards glance. Harry considered the small glade—as good a place to leave the tent as any—then sighed and plunged into the dense undergrowth surrounding it. A low-hanging branch Tony had pushed forward smacked him across the nose, knocking his glasses askew.

"Bugger!"

"Shh," Tony hissed ahead of him.

Spitting out a leaf, Harry plodded on. To his relief, the thicket soon ended and walking became easier. Were it not for his sore feet and growling stomach, it might've been a pleasant stroll through the woods. He would still have preferred to fly like a civilized person, but they didn't have the time to repair the Firebolt.

A cry came, barely audible above their steps, and Tony whipped his head about like a scent hound before changing course. Harry hoped he knew where they were going—he wanted to investigate too, but wandering through the forest blindly didn't seem like the best way to go about it.

"Point me," he said, watching his wand spin on his palm before pointing north. It wasn't much, but he could at least make sure they weren't walking in circles.

Another quarter of an hour passed in relative silence, with the birds quieting down as the trees grew sparser. When the screams came again, they did so in quick succession, and Harry couldn't help the shiver that raced down his spine. The anguish in them transcended language.

"Slow down!" he called as Tony began racing ahead.

Tony's blue eyes were wide and shining as he swung around. "They sound so close!"

"They sound like someone being _tortured_." Harry looked him in the eye. "I could be wrong, but it won't hurt to be careful. We don't know what we're getting into."

Tony's flabbergasted look morphed into determination. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Disillusionment Charms all around, then?"

Harry released a relieved breath. "The cloak, rather—wouldn't want to lose sight of each other."

They draped the cloak over their heads and shuffled onward, kicking up brown pine needles. The foliage barely shaded them from the morning sun anymore, and after they ascended a hill, the forest gave way to verdant meadows that sloped down gently to a distant river valley. Harry stopped and shielded his eyes.

On a level swath of grass a few hundred yards ahead sprawled a camp. The flamboyant multi-storey tents along with the dark-robed folks milling about identified it as a wizarding operation. Most people clustered around two upright logs erected roughly in the center of the camp, their backs hiding whatever it was they were doing from sight. Pulling Tony along, he backpedaled to get a higher vantage point.

A heartrending cry echoed, and the dark-robes parted for an instant to reveal a winged woman tied to one of the poles, her head thrown back. Harry's fists clenched and he inadvertently stepped forward before catching himself.

"Bloody hell, they're using the Cruciatus! Who would—" Tony growled. "Oh, I see. The Moravetz again."

"How can you tell?"

The cloak shimmered as Tony raised his hand to point. "That's their crest over there."

Harry grimly regarded the Graphorn emblem on a large reinforced crate that looked like something used for transporting cattle. "They sure came out in force... Those sods at the pub must've been only scouts."

"Doesn't matter who they were," Tony said. "We have to rescue those poor girls."

Harry glanced at him dubiously, then looked the camp over. "There's at least twenty of them. You said it yourself, these guys are bad news. Unlike Aurors, they'll be cursing to kill."

A harrowing wail lingered in the air, tugging at Harry's conscience. He hung his head.

Tony shivered. "We have to rescue them. We _have_ to. I wouldn't be surprised if they were only caught because they were out chasing us last night!"

"It's not that I disagree," he said carefully, "but going out in a blaze of glory won't help them."

"What do we do, then?" Tony asked, squaring up to him. "You're the expert in this kind of situation."

Only his beseeching tone stopped Harry from snapping back. "We could go back to Bratislava... I never Apparated that far, but at least one of us should make it. We turn ourselves in, try to smooth things over with the Aurors. It might"—he swallowed—"it might take a few hours, but we should be able to get them to come here and sort this lot out." Having experienced the Cruciatus Curse first-hand, it almost hurt to say it, but suicide by mafia didn't appeal to him either. It wasn't like he had the prophecy to protect him anymore.

Tony goggled. "How can you say that? These bastards won't hesitate to kill one to make the other speak—and even if they don't, you know what Cruciatus does to a person." His hand landed on Harry's shoulder. "Think of something better."

"That's a tall fucking order," Harry murmured, staring downslope. "Let's get a bit closer."

Charming their footsteps silent, he slung an arm over Tony's shoulders to keep him low and waddled toward a smattering of trees that encroached on the meadow. This brought them so close to the camp that he could make out the wands clutched by the guards at the perimeter. The captives remained mostly hidden, an occasional gap between the robed ranks revealing a glimpse of feathered wings.

He squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his wand. While he couldn't feel out magic with the same ease geniuses like Dumbledore were able to, he could at least detect Anti-Apparition—and with the broomstick out of commission, Apparition was their only way out of a sticky situation.

Odd... he couldn't feel a thing.

"Okay," he whispered, frowning. "I need some time. No speaking, no magic, just... stay put. I can't have you running ahead and tripping alarms."

His forceful exhalation drowned out Tony's reply as he shut his eyes again. The agitated thoughts clamoring for attention, the urge to do something, _anything_; his fear, his anger, even his compassion; he tamped it all down. His heartbeat slowed until it was no longer pounding in his ears. A worry that it was taking him too long niggled at him and was summarily ignored.

The rustling of the foliage and the indistinct voices of the mobsters dominated his senses. He plugged his ears. A crude way to go about it, but he was only an amateur at the craft. It wasn't yet enough—the sun was warm on his skin, and the breeze ruffled the cloak. Sinking deeper into Occlumentic trance, he disassociated from that too.

He was left, finally, with the esoteric perceptions that were normally drowned out by the ruckus of bodily sensations. The cloak clung to him in an icy film, and he marveled at how it flowed subtly with the slightest motion. The wand he was holding awkwardly between his fingers throbbed with suppressed power. The Silencing Charms were like thick woolen socks on his feet, and he could even discern the day-old echo of the _Impervius _on his robes, brushing against his skin like waterproof leather—

An agonized note intruded on his awareness, hitting him like a cold shower. Extending his wand, he cast his weakening perception toward the camp, as far as it would go, but perhaps because of his lapse of concentration, all he could feel was...

"Nothing," he whispered. He opened his eyes, then shielded them from the unbearably bright sun. "How long was I out?"

"Out?" Tony asked. "You just made funny faces for a minute."

Harry gaped—the last time he experimented, he had to meditate for half an hour before he could sense anything. Never mind, he could ponder his breakthrough later.

"There's nothing," he said in a stronger voice. "Forget Anti-Apparition, they haven't even put up any alarms."

Tony exhaled. "That's good for our chances, right?"

"In the sense that they're better than certain death now." Scrutinizing the camp with a naked eye gave him no further insight. Were the gangsters that confident no one would dare interfere? "The girls are tied to those poles. We won't be able to Apparate them out without cutting them loose."

"And that lot won't sit idly by and let us do it," Tony muttered.

"Right... so here's what we're going to do," Harry said, working out the last details of the plan—if something so reckless could be called such. "I'm going to pop to the other side of the camp and sneak closer, while you stay here and create a diversion. Something flashy—make 'em think a whole bloody army is attacking. Once they're distracted, I rush in, malletspace one chick, free the other, and Side-Along her out."

Tony didn't speak for several seconds. "Are you sure you can make it out in time?"

He shrugged. "Are _you_ sure you're up for this? The second they catch on to what's happening, they'll block our escape routes—and I might be pretty good, but don't expect me to take on two dozen fighters."

Tony was silent for longer this time, and Harry could see the emotions warring on his face. The stalemate was broken by more screams below. "Let's do this. And not because of who the victims are, either. It's just... I can't walk away from this, you know?"

Nodding grimly, Harry aimed his wand skyward. "Cave Inimicum."

A slight change in pressure told him they were screened from outside view. He straightened up, and storing away the cloak, retrieved a set of black-and-red duelist's robes instead, thanking his lucky stars he brought them along. His tinkering had made them illegal in regulated matches, but in a real fight, he would take any advantage he could get.

He stuck his right arm through a tight sleeve, then tried to do the same with his left, swearing when the splint snagged on the fabric. Pulling his hand out, he cut through the bandages with a _Diffindo_ before ripping them off. His fingers were a mosaic of purple and yellow, but when flexed, they only felt a little tender.

"When did you learn to mend bones?"

"I didn't." Harry shrugged at Tony's stare as he buttoned up the robes. "Maybe they weren't broken after all."

Tony eyed his bruises doubtfully but didn't comment.

Harry tapped himself on the head, and with a sensation of something gooey trickling down his back, the Disillusionment Charm settled over him. "Give me five minutes, then wreak havoc. And, you know... try not to die."

Tony cleared his throat. "After this is over—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. You of all people should know better than to throw death flags." He scoped out a good location downslope of the camp: far enough for the mobsters to miss the crack of Apparition, yet close enough to keep them in sight. "Let's hit those cunts with all we've got." Taking a deep breath, he brought his destination to the forefront of his mind.

"Wait!" Tony's hand scrabbled blindly at his robes. "Over there!"

Stumbling, he steadied himself against a nearby tree and whipped his head around. His heart soared; several tiny figures hovered in the sky adjacent to the closest mountain peak, and more were appearing out of thin air.

A commotion broke out in the camp, and Harry looked over to find the mobsters clearing a large circle around their captives. Some shook their fists at the sky and hooted.

"So that's why they didn't have any wards up—they wanted to lure out the queen." He drew a shaky breath. "If we're lucky, the bastards will get zapped and we won't have to step in."

"Maybe we could step in_ a little_," Tony said. "Just to show them we're the good guys."

Harry chuckled, clenching and unclenching his shaking hands; the relief at not having to go through with the suicide mission was making him lightheaded. "Let's see what happens. I don't fancy being electrocuted."

More harpies emerged every second, too many to accurately count. Once their numbers stopped growing, Harry reckoned there had to be close to a hundred. They formed a great gyre in the sky, flying round and round, wispy clouds developing above their tiny silhouettes.

Tony linked his fingers and stretched. "Might as well prepare, in case they need help."

"Good call," he said, watching a four-legged shape rise from the ground. A swish of Tony's wand, and it morphed into an Arctic wolf that proceeded to shake off the leftover dirt. Harry took a moment to admire the beast; had he attempted a transfiguration this extravagant, the wolf would probably have blades of grass for fur.

Leaving Tony to work, he looked up. The harpies danced, drifting ever closer to the encampment, an echo of their rhythmic chant reaching him on a gust of chilly wind. The cloud bank above had thickened enough to blot out the sun, and its center acquired a steely color.

Down on the ground, the mobsters spread out, weaving protections around themselves and huddling behind crates. This left the captives in plain sight, and Harry realized with a start that Tony had been right: one was Lenka, and the other the redhead who had come to her rescue last night. The former was tilting her head skyward, but the latter only hung limply from her bonds, blood trickling down her temple.

A lanky black-haired witch emerged from the largest tent carrying a vicious trident and approached the captives. Harry's breath caught, and he prepared to go in, caution be damned—but the witch merely stepped between the poles and jammed the butt of the weapon into the soil. He sagged into a crouch.

Thunder rumbled, and a mizzle began to fall. Glancing up, he saw the gyre spinning directly above the camp. He wondered why the bandits weren't using their hostages as living shields, but perhaps they didn't know how powerful the harpies' elemental magic was. It would be their last mistake.

The distant chant cut abruptly, and lightning arced down with a deafening crack. Blinking furiously, he stared at the encampment expecting carnage and destruction. His jaw dropped; the tents remained intact, and while a few people were rubbing their eyes, they appeared unscathed.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"I don't know," he said, turning around. "Did you see—"

A second thunderclap roared, and Harry flinched before scanning the camp again. His gaze was drawn to the trident the tall witch was holding with one hand. Its barbed tips glowed red, forming a haze of heated air above, then cooled to pale yellow before his eyes.

"Bloody thing neutralizes lightning," he said. "Where did they even get something like that?"

"Told you the Moravetz were a big deal," Tony said.

"We might need to lend a hand after all." Feeling a tug on his robes, he turned around. "What?"

Coming face-to-snout with an enormous white wolf, he jerked away. At least a dozen beasts sat on their haunches around a preoccupied Tony, and one was chewing on the invisible hem of Harry's robes. He flicked its nose, then yanked his hand back when it growled and snapped.

"Control your bloody menagerie, mate."

Tony finished transfiguring another before acknowledging him. "Sorry, the noise is making them antsy."

As if on cue, thunder resounded, making man and beast alike cower at its primordial power. Harry stuck his finger into his ear and wiggled. Through the ringing, he could make out the whining of Tony's wolves, the yells of the mobsters, and the angry voices of the harpies far above. Their chant faltered, then broke apart, and looking up, he saw dozens of winged figures swooping down like great birds of prey—although as they drew closer, they resembled nothing less than Amazonian warriors of legend. For a minute, he simply gawked.

A jet of ochre whizzed upward, making several harpies swerve aside. A dozen more followed, streaking through the sky like a light show. Still the harpies plummeted, deftly twirling out of the harm's way.

A tattooed woman was at the vanguard, her braided hair whipping about as she dived at breakneck speed. Mere meters above the ground, she unfurled her broad wings and arrested her fall. Her lips parted in a fierce cry that gained a corporeal presence, descending on the humans beneath in a compressed blast of wind.

Retaliation came in the form of two curses that impacted her from different directions, viciously twisting her body and sending her into freefall. Harry held his breath until her kin dived and seized her by the shoulders, but his relief was short-lived, for before his eyes, another harpy was clipped on the wing and came tumbling down onto the meadow.

More fliers descended to batter the camp with gusts of wind, crumpling the tents and scattering the gear, yet doing little damage to its inhabitants, who responded with a flurry of hexes. The incantations, the screeches, and the howling wind blended into a pandemonium that brought Harry's worst memories to the fore. The harpies' superior numbers were dwindling with every second, and he couldn't see this clash ending in any other way than their defeat.

The harpies seemed to come to the same conclusion, for after exchanging crestfallen cries, they retreated skyward, many carrying wounded. As they began gaining altitude, the witch with the trident approached a hostage to put her wand under her chin and yelled a threat.

"Tony," Harry said as the harpies rallied for another futile attack. "This is our cue."

"Thought you'd never ask."

He turned to find Tony extending his wand like a general's baton. With a chorus of yips, two dozen white wolves sprang to their feet and loped down the meadow. Even out in the open, the pack surmounted half the distance toward the camp before the first exclamations of alarm.

Several beasts fell to curses, but many made it through the barrage, lunging for the mobsters' throats and tearing at their shins. Harry hoped they would get the trident wielder, but she turned out to be quick on the draw, her wand a blur as she not only defended herself but also gored the wolves pinning down her cronies. She didn't have free rein for long, however, for the harpies swooped in and the chaotic melee resumed.

"I'm going in." Harry gave himself a once-over to make sure his Disillusionment was still functional. His heart was beating like mad, but he knew he wouldn't get a better opportunity.

"Roger," Tony said. "Be careful—"

He spun on his heel, and Tony's voice was swallowed by a void where space and time held no meaning. Bursting back into reality in the middle of the camp, he swiveled his head. The sounds of battle surged, and his skin itched with the magic unleashed in such a short time.

A wizard backtracked toward him, launching spell after spell at the sky; Harry jabbed his wand into his ribs, the rumpled robes concealing the crimson flash. He crept toward the nearer pole before the glinting trident caught his eye and he changed course, shoving a bandit in his way into a collapsed tent. The man swore and thrust his wand in Harry's direction, but a harpy pounced and bowled him over.

Leaping over their thrashing limbs, Harry found the trident within reach, its wielder standing with her back to it as she hurled curses at the fliers. He slapped his palm to the warm metal.

"Yoink," he mouthed silently.

The witch whirled around, her hooded eyes widening, and heaved a crescent of energy that shore off an inch of Harry's hair as he ducked.

"_Pobehlica neviditeľný! Nenechajte ho uniknúť!_" she yelled, twirling her wand in a complex gesture.

He scrambled away on his hands and knees, accidentally tripping a wizard who had rushed up at her shout. Grunting at the pain in his flank, he kicked the fallen man in the face, making him howl and clutch his nose, then crawled along the packed ground toward the first hostage.

With her neck, wings, and ankles tied to the pole, Lenka could only look on helplessly as the battle unfolded. Lunging, he grabbed her ankle; her lips parted, but her body vanished before she could make a sound.

Shouts rang out, and he rolled away on instinct, a curse impacting the ground where he'd been a second ago and showering him in soil. He swore, materializing his wand and firing back haphazardly as he dashed towards the second hostage. With the dirt sticking to his robes, his camouflage was ruined.

Something walloped him between the shoulder blades, driving the air out of his lungs and sending him stumbling toward the pole. He erected a _Protego_ before practically collapsing atop the unconscious harpy. His wand shook badly as he aimed it at her bindings, and he struggled to draw breath. Somehow, he cut the rope around her neck without injuring her further, but that left two more, and his shield was already crumbling. Desperate, he tried to take her in too, then winced at the backlash.

An unseen curse sapped the strength from his legs. Dropping painfully to his knees, he fortuitously avoided a Bludgeoner that punched into the log above, pelting him and the nameless harpy with wood chips.

"Expulso," he wheezed, creating an explosion of dirt.

The barrage ceased momentarily, and he erected another shield before furiously rapping his wand on his nerveless thighs. The roar in his ears and the fear clenching his gut made it impossible to think clearly.

A solution came to him as his shield went down again. Deflecting a buzzing jet of yellow, he ducked behind the pole and materialized Lenka, who crumpled to the ground with a cry. Seizing her wrist with his left hand, he stored away his wand and groped around the log for her friend. Despite the deluge of spellfire, despite the enchantments on his robes barely stopping an Entrail-Expelling Curse, he couldn't help his lips curling up as he took her into his malletspace. Dragging Lenka along, he pivoted on his foot.

Reappearing in the stand of trees upslope, Harry stumbled in a pit left from Tony's transfiguration and fell on his back. Groaning, he tried to force air into his lungs. Lenka gasped and sputtered next to him, but he had no strength left to deal with her.

Tony's pale face loomed above, and his wand rapped the crown of Harry's head, undoing the Disillusionment. "Mate, you look like shit."

Clasping the proffered hand, Harry grunted as he was yanked to his feet. He wiped his damp forehead, then blinked when his fingers came away bloody. "I'll live. Let's get out of here... Our first campsite should be far enough."

Tony pivoted on his heel, then staggered with a grunt. "Anti-Apparition went up."

He tried not to think how close of a call it had been. "Into the forest, then. Help me carry her."

Lenka was flopping on the grass, her wings too feeble to take to the air, and her legs not supporting her weight. As they approached, she wriggled away, pulling herself with her hands.

Tony stooped over her. "Er, you alright?"

She craned her neck back, revealing a purple bruise across it, and spat. "Die!"

Tony sighed. "That's no way to—"

"I tell nothing! Kill me!" The swipe of her clawed hand fell short.

"Just knock her out and get it over with," Harry said, lifting his wand.

"No!" Tony stepped in between them. "She's so weak even a Stunner could seriously harm her."

"Then tie her up or something—there's no time!" He gestured toward where the bandits, having repelled the harpies, were spreading out of the camp.

"Just let me talk to her," Tony pleaded.

"I rip out your guts! I tear—" Lenka broke into a coughing fit, clutching her midsection.

"Calm down," Tony said, crouching beside her. "We have to run away now, alright? Let me help you up..."

Hugging her gently around the shoulders, he began lifting her. For a moment, she seemed to comply, but then she snarled and raked Tony's chest with her talons, making him jump back with a yelp.

"Enough." Shoving Tony aside, Harry stomped up to her and jabbed his wand under her chin. When she bared her teeth, he clamped his palm over her mouth and pushed her down. "Get it through your thick skull already! I risked my life to save you two, but if those goons catch us, they'll do worse to you than they already have. Do you understand?"

The wild look in Lenka's hazel eyes cleared as she looked—really looked—at him for the first time before slightly inclining her head. He removed his hand. She coughed softly, then licked her cracked lips.

"You... save my sister?"

"Got her right here." Materializing the second captive, he grimaced as her unconscious body dropped the last couple of inches to the grass. He laid the trident beside her, giving it a curious once-over. "Nicked this thing too, for all the good it did."

Lenka gasped and sidled closer, pushing her sister's braids off her face and leaning down to listen to her breathing. "She alive!"

"That's great, really," he said, glancing over his shoulder. The mobsters were ascending in a dispersed line. Some held their wands like dowsing rods, while others watched out for the harpies, who hovered just out of range. "But we need to get out of here."

Tony gave Harry an admonishing look before kneeling beside her. "She'll be fine." Under Lenka's wary gaze, he touched his wand to a scrape on her sister's scalp, causing it to heal up. "Best I can do is mend her bruises and hope she wakes up on her own, mind."

"I'll vanish her again, don't freak out," Harry said. "You'll have to walk, I'll give you a cloak that makes you invisible... Are you listening?"

Lenka gave no acknowledgment as she contemplated the trident. Her face set resolutely, and her gaze rose to the sky before she drew a shuddering breath and shrieked. Flabbergasted, Harry made to silence her, but the shriek quickly faded into a hoarse wail, then a cough.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" he hissed, glancing downslope. "We run, _now_." Taking in the trident, he reached for the unconscious harpy.

Lenka's hand wrapped feebly around his wrist. "Please," she croaked. "Have to tell tribe... Without weapon, they sing again... My voice, I scream and scream... _Please_..."

Tony's eyes widened, and before Harry could say anything, he aimed his wand at Lenka's throat. "Episkey. Sonorus. Go on, give it a try."

She stared at him in surprise before nodding and inhaling deeply. Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth and _sang_. Harry clamped his palms over his ears, but her voice penetrated his skull, changing in tone as it went on yet never diminishing in volume. Even after Lenka slumped back and he dared lower his hands, the piercing notes seemed to hang in the air.

A lilting answer came from above, and he saw the remaining harpies regroup just underneath the clouds. Down below, the bandits exchanged shouts before advancing toward Harry's little warded circle. He glanced back at the forest and sighed.

"Guess we're fighting the bloody mafia," he said, glowering at the two idiots.

"My—" Lenka clasped a hand over her mouth as her voice came out in a bellow, and Tony quickly canceled the Amplifying Charm. "My tribe call thunder again, but..." She quivered as her gaze swept over the gangsters converging on their position.

Standing up, Tony stepped in front of the two harpies. "Then we just need to hold out until then."

"Listen to you, trying to sound all cool," Harry said, ensconcing Lenka and her sister in a dome shield.

"Sorry, couldn't resist the opportunity to show off," Tony quipped. His face was pallid and his hand shook as he raised his beasts from the earth.

His scowl relaxed a little. "Been a while since I played the hero, I suppose."

As a third wolf joined the two already at Tony's sides, their hackles raised, Harry assumed a slightly sideways duelist's pose to present a smaller profile and felt out the ward boundary. Eight mobsters were yards away, while the rest were scattered across the slope between here and the ruined camp.

He swept his wand along the boundary, then back, layering Growth and Animation Charms over the grass until the writhing greenery rose to his knees. The foes drew inexorably closer, and he held his breath even knowing it wouldn't matter.

A mustached man crossed the boundary, his eyes widening as his wand vibrated in his hands. "_Oni su—_"

Harry's wand twitched, causing grassy tentacles to wrap around the man's limbs and drag him down. The dome of _Cave Inimicum _shimmered into visibility and disintegrated; the mobsters brandished their wands, and the wolves snarled and sprang forth.

He parried an acidic jet with the wandtip before screams rang out at the wolves' attack, granting him a second to animate two of the mobsters' robes so their collars constricted and their sleeves flapped violently. When they bumped into each other, his Sticking Charm glued them together, and they flailed and swore until green tendrils wrapped around their ankles and brought them down.

A wall of fire sped at him, and he recoiled from the heat, blindly flinging Stunners at the source. The flames abruptly died down, leaving scorched soil and groaning, smoking bodies in its wake. Harry nabbed them with a Paralysis Curse before leveling his wand at the rest.

A bowler-hatted man eviscerated the wolf that had latched onto him and trained his wand on Tony, his left arm dangling bloody in a torn sleeve. Harry's hex forced him to shield; a moment later his hat morphed into a lynx that clawed at his face, and as he screamed and staggered under its weight, another precise Paralysis Curse brought him down.

"Crucio!"

Harry's body knew what to do better than his mind did, flattening on the ground before the second syllable. He glimpsed a wolf leaping to intercept the curse and crumpling with a whimper. Pushing up, he saw a man with a broken nose taking aim at him again.

Thrusting his wand, he let loose a Blasting Curse. Broken-Nose parried, then responded in kind, and they began exchanging fire at an increasing pace, neither giving the other time to vocalize or work anything complex. The ground around them grew pockmarked and scorched, but neither gained the upper hand until Harry was blindsided by a Disarming Charm. He gaped as his wand sailed toward a chubby guy he'd overlooked in the heat of battle.

"Crucio!" Broken-Nose snarled.

Harry brought out the trident, keening as the crackling jet connected with its shaft sending pain coursing through his hand; he couldn't fathom why the bloke would torture him instead of murdering him like a professional, but he'd show him the error of his ways. Taking the trident back in, he materialized a wand at random. "Confringo!"

Both men froze momentarily, staring at the orange smoke escaping from the ornately carved wand. As Broken-Nose smirked and began another incantation, Harry tossed the wand in his general direction and retrieved another. Miraculously, the missile hit his forehead, making him flinch and allowing Harry to finish the spell.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Broken-Nose's limbs snapped to his sides and he toppled over. Harry groaned in relief; at least the simpler spells worked.

Then the wand was ripped out of his hand _again_.

"Oh, for—" Rounding on the chubster, he materialized all three of his remaining wands. "Levicorpus, Purpuramorbo, Furnunculus, fuck you, and fuck you again!"

Breathing heavily, he stared at the twitching mass of purple flesh with no small amount of satisfaction before summoning his trusty twelve inches of pine. As it spurted sparks in his palm, he looked around. Two mobsters had Tony in a pincer, forcing him on the back foot, and the main force was approaching fast.

He strode forward chaining hexes. The first bandit went down instantly, too absorbed in the fight, while the second managed to shield, his beady eyes darting between Harry and Tony. As Harry resumed his chain, Tony transfigured a quagmire beneath the bandit, causing him to sink to his waist with a yell ended by a string of hexes.

Harry ran up to Tony, summoning wands as he went. The second wave, numbering half again the first, was nearly upon them, the mobsters surrounding them in a tightening semicircle rather than rushing in haphazardly; perhaps seeing their comrades bite the dust had instilled some respect for his and Tony's skill.

He spared a glance for the harpies—Lenka was wringing her hands as she watched on from underneath the dome—then eyed Tony's disheveled form. "Alright?"

"Been better," Tony said, his gaze darting between the dozen cruel-faced foes. "How long, do you reckon?"

He tilted his head back, finding the harpies spiraling in a funnel beneath a dark cumulonimbus cloud. Moisture trickled down his forehead, and fragments of their chant carried to his ears. Given their diminished numbers, he wasn't sure their fury would come down in time.

"Go for it?" Tony whispered, trembling as the enemy drew ever closer.

"Not yet." Harry's sweaty fingers clenched around his wand. The mobsters were almost within the range where one good salvo would leave him and Tony no chance to defend. He met the hooded eyes of the witch in the middle, and coming to a snap decision, stepped forward. "Oi! We surrender!"

"We_ what_?" Tony sputtered.

"Play along," Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. He waved his hands over his head. "This is all just a big misunderstanding! Can't we talk this out?"

Hope surged within him when she sneered and barked an order—but then a dozen wands lit with multicolored lights, and all hell broke loose.

A sideways swish of Harry's wand produced a filmy sheet that coruscated with impacts before shattering. His arm extended to strike, but he had to yank it back to parry an Organ-Liquefying Curse zooming for his midsection. A fusillade of increasingly nasty spells left him no window to counterattack, and he backpedaled as he frantically swatted what he could aside.

His focus sharpened as his Occlumency training kicked in, leaving no room for fear or second thoughts. The shouts, the sizzle of curses, and the rapid thumping of his pulse faded to the background. He moved with imperturbable efficiency, deflecting a Cutter, sidestepping a Killing Curse, then shielding from lower-level hexes.

A volley from all around tore through his shield, and he parried four curses he didn't recognize, twisting to receive a Skin-Melter with his non-dominant shoulder. The pain of it eating through the padding of his robes and into his flesh barely registered as he used the split-second gap to launch a purple ribbon into the thick of the attackers.

A cry came from his right, and out of the corner of his vision, he glimpsed Tony cradling a bloodied arm. He shielded him, giving him time to aim his wand at the ground before him and tug it upwards. A gargantuan bipedal figure erupted, the unceasing onslaught gouging its rough surface in sprays of dirt. In his furious concentration, Tony paid no heed to the curses whizzing past, and just as the ten-foot golem was fully shaped, he was clipped by one and keeled over.

Harry leapt to shelter behind the lifeless transfiguration, hearing Lenka scream as the spells he had dodged zipped toward her. His wand moved, hardening the mud and imbuing it with whatever protections he could afford before an Animation Charm sent the golem lumbering into the fray. It lost an arm to a shouted _Bombarda _before even making contact, but a mighty swipe of its other limb blew several hapless mobsters off their feet.

His wand blurred as he meted out curses with vicious generosity, but it wasn't long before the golem was reverted into a mound of dirt, and the tide of battle turned once more. Malicious magic hurtled from every direction, and with Tony out for the count, it took all he had just to survive.

Allowing cold reason to consume him, he contorted to evade a part of the volley, then levitated a fallen bandit into the line of fire. The man yowled in pain, but Harry didn't bat an eye, directing the impromptu shield to block more attacks.

Something slugged him in the ribs, lifting him off his feet and tossing him on the ground. He instinctively tried to shield, but his hand wouldn't budge; half of his robes had transformed into stone, the Hardening Charm he'd let through overcoming their enchantments at last.

Curling up to present a smaller target, he transferred his wand to his left hand and gasped out, "Protego."

Spells whistled past, impacting the shield or digging into the ground while he rapped his wand on his petrified sleeve. When his shield flickered out, he raised his head and met the gaze of the black-haired witch; her wand pointed directly at him.

"Fulminare!" she snarled.

He rolled aside, but the motion was cut short as his limbs seized up. The control of his body quickly returned to him, but his muscles were so shaky he struggled to hold his wand. Lying powerless on his side, he could only watch as the witch drew closer.

"W-wait," he rasped, pushing up with a trembling arm. "Let's make a deal."

Several mobsters jeered as their leader adjusted her aim. "Crucio!"

A blast of wind knocked Harry prone and blew the witch backwards, her curse veering so far off the mark it nearly hit one of her cronies. A glance back revealed Lenka, who teetered on her knees before collapsing.

Gritting his teeth, he crawled to Tony and dragged him toward the harpies. As he raised his trembling wand, he was promptly disarmed. Taunts rang out, and jinxes pelted them; Lenka threw herself over her unconscious sister, whimpering, while Harry could do little more than shield his face with his arms.

A harsh female voice cut through the jeers, and he lowered his arms. The leader stalked up to him, swatting her tousled hair away from her narrowed eyes. Dazed with adrenaline, he grasped at the shreds of his Occlumentic composure to no avail.

"You gave us too much trouble," she spat, taking aim. "Who're you working for?"

"Working?" His lip curled. "I'll have you know I'm financially independent."

"Crucio."

His world dissolved into pain as vile energies ravaged his body. He was dimly aware of his throat being torn apart by his screams. When the agony ceased an eternity later, the witch stood closer, her lips were stretched into a sneer, and her cronies were laughing.

"I won't ask again," she said.

"We came here to p-protect them." Seeing her disbelief, he laughed painfully. "People l-like you... will never understand beauty. Read my mind... I won't resist."

Her dark eyes bore into his before shifting to the harpies behind. "As much as I'd like to find out who sent you, we're on a tight schedule. If you won't talk, I'll settle for delivering your corpse to our necromancer."

"A challenge, then." He sniffed the air, then raised a trembling hand. "Let's see whose magic is stronger, shall we?"

The bandits laughed and shouted insults. The leader's expression hardened and she pointed her wand between his eyes. Harry licked his lips, tasting blood, and gave her a shit-eating grin.

"In the name of the Eternal Warlock"—he brought his hand down sharply—"_get fucked_."

Her mouth opened, but her voice caught as her eyes widened in horrified understanding. As she tilted her head back, the leaden clouds ignited, and a deafening fulmination struck not thirty yards behind, tossing her cronies like rag dolls.

Materializing a stolen wand, Harry Banished her backward in a tangle of limbs. Another bolt seared his retinas, followed by a third mere seconds later. Panicked screams reached his ears before the successive thunderclaps deadened them to the point where all he could hear was high-pitched ringing. There was no end to the harpies' fury, and the lightning was striking closer and closer.

"Aegis Tholus," he said, not hearing his own voice.

Flimsy as it was, the prismatic dome blocked the worst of the flashes and noise. He crouched over Tony; there were no major injuries visible, but with the curses that had been flying around, one could never tell.

"Episkey. Episkey. Rennervate. Come on, mate, speak to me."

Tony's eyes shot open and he gave Harry a frightened look before flipping over and dry-heaving. His hand scrabbled for his wand, and he aimed it at his stomach, his lips moving in an incantation Harry was unable to hear.

He leaned closer. "What did they get you with?"

"Vertigo Hex... bloody annoying... back in seventh year..."

Harry clapped him on the shoulder and moved on to Lenka, who was huddling beside her sister. He worked his jaw trying to get his hearing back without much success.

"Were you hurt?" he asked, watching her gaze flick toward him. As her lips moved soundlessly, he grimaced and tapped his ear.

She mimed wiping her forehead.

"Just exhausted—tired?"

She nodded weakly.

"Thanks for saving me back there."

Her lips quirked and her sharp features softened. As Harry smiled back, she suddenly stiffened up and pointed a clawed finger upward.

Glancing up, he recoiled from a rapidly approaching shadow, only recognizing it as a falling tree when it clanged off the dome and rolled down. Hairline cracks appeared across the opalescent surface—bloody foreign wand—but it held together.

Then lightning struck, and he was slammed into the ground by the shockwave as the shield gave out.

The stench of ozone stung his nostrils. Rolling onto his back, he glowered at the sky, where the harpies were maintaining their frenetic dance. Getting sent beyond the veil by friendly fire would be just embarrassing.

The trident emerged in his hands, and he stabbed its butt into the earth, leaning on the shaft for support. It wasn't a moment too soon, for millions of volts of electricity instantly streaked from the sky toward its prongs. Harry instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, but despite the proximity, he was unharmed.

He glanced at the artifact, thankful that it didn't require any arcane procedures to work its magic, then straightened up and shook his fist at the sky.

"Oi! That's enough!"

As if to spite him, another bolt struck, causing him to cower and hug the trident for dear life.

"I said _enough_, you dumb feathery broads!"

"Let... me," Lenka said.

Glancing back, he saw Tony helping her to her feet. She took a deep breath and cried out, her voice projecting farther than Harry's had any hope of doing, before waving her wings for balance and slumping down. Before his eyes, the gyre began breaking up as more and more winged figures ceased their dance and glided down.

Lowering his gaze, Harry got the first good look at the devastation they had wrought. Scorch marks lined the meadow, branching outward from where lightning had struck, and most of the surrounding trees were now little more than blackened stumps. The mobsters lay scattered, some wailing feebly as they scrabbled at the ground, others showing no signs of life.

He flicked the stolen wand to summon his own, releasing a ragged breath when it floated up whole and undamaged. Putting it to work, he extinguished an unconscious chap's smoldering hair, more because the smell curled his nose than out of mercy, then Stunned another who'd risen to all fours. No one seemed capable of fighting; even their leader was slumped over face-first.

Down in the camp, amid plumes of smoke, a black figure rummaged through the wreckage to emerge with a broomstick. Ascending unsteadily, the bandit took off toward the river below, but his flight didn't go unnoticed; several harpies broke off the main bevy and swooped after, ramming him off the broom. As the bandit plummeted in a flutter of robes, Harry grimaced and looked away. The rest of the harpies kept descending in a gentle spiral, which he hoped boded well for him and Tony.

Tony shoved him in the back. "Watch out!"

An angry orange jet whizzed past his ear, and he whirled around; the black-haired witch growled in frustration before scampering off with spryness that belied her battered form. He took aim.

"Incarcerous!"

Thin black ropes shot forth, and the fleeing witch cried out as they twined around her limbs, tripping her over and leaving her hogtied.

Tony shook his head, lowering his own wand. "Could've Stunned her, you pervert."

"It was the first thing that came to mind." He glanced at Lenka, who was peering at the bound witch with something akin to glee. "For the record, I didn't do that on purpose."

She frowned and opened her mouth, but the discussion on the quirks of magic had to be tabled, for her sister stirred and let out a moan. Lenka rushed to her side, helping her sit up. Upon seeing Harry and Tony, her eyes grew wide as saucers, and she scooted back with an incoherent yell. The men raised their hands to show they meant peace, while Lenka hugged her and crooned.

It was upon this scene that the harpies alighted, throwing their feet forward and braking with their wings. In no time at all, Harry and Tony were surrounded by winged women who peered at them with wariness and curiosity, filling the air with the rustling of feathers and quiet warbling. Every last one was naked as the day they were born, their tan skin and darker plumage creating a panoply of earth tones occasionally livened up by tattoos and colorful beads woven into their hair.

"Hi there," Tony said. No one responded, but he kept grinning like Christmas had come early, his gaze aimed rather lower than the harpies' eyes. "Hello. How do you do? Nice weather we're having."

"So..." Harry drawled. As much as he appreciated the view, the silence was becoming unnerving.

One harpy chirped and looked up, and he followed her gaze, shielding his eyes against the sun that peeked through the thinning clouds. A sole figure was descending toward them, her snowy feathers glinting, and her ample breasts bouncing in tune with her powerful wing beats.

"The queen," he murmured in recognition.

Tony whipped his head about, then set to dusting off his robes.

The queen's landing was heavier than that of her kin, but far from ungraceful. As she touched down a dozen steps away, the circle parted before her without a word. Where most harpies barely reached up to Harry's shoulders, she nearly matched him in height. Her frizzy hair was as white as her plumage, forming a small crest above her forehead.

She came closer, her amber eyes contemplating the men, the trident sticking out of the ground, and the two sisters nestling behind. Harry kept an eye on the harpies; despite their slight physiques, he had no doubt their talons were deadly up close. He glanced at Tony to make sure he was prepared should things go south, but he was gaping at the queen with awe. Harry's fingers tightened around his wand.

The queen bowed.

There were exclamations all around, but when she straightened to full stature, a hush fell over the tribe. Harry forced his gaze up to her high-cheekbone face.

"Thank you, strangers, for coming to our aid." She spoke fluently, albeit with a lilting accent. "But tell me, why did you risk your lives to save ours? Are you plunderers like the scum at our feet, seeking to deny your rivals their prize?"

"Perish the thought!" Tony said. "We only wanted to help. Your gorgeous smiles are the breast—I mean, best prize a man could ask for." The fact that most harpies were stony-faced didn't seem to faze him.

"That is... very noble of you." The queen inclined her head again. "We shall sing of your honorable deed to our children, so even after you and I are gone, the tribe will always assist your descendants should they need it."

"Blimey," Tony said, grinning like a lunatic. "Try and top _this_, Scamander."

Feathers rustled behind them as Lenka and her sister stood supported by their kin on each side.

"Sorry," Lenka said quietly, not meeting the men's eyes. "For... for not believe you, and... sorry." Her sister chirped and bowed, and she added, "My sister thanks for heal her."

"Tell her she's quite welcome." Tony leered at the redhead with such intensity that she squirmed. "Actually, do any of you need healing? I'm no Mediwizard, but I'll do what I can."

Harry sobered as he recalled the curses that had been hurtling through the skies. "Did you lose many of your people?"

The queen shook her head. "Nothing worse than broken bones. We have an agreement with the village healer, should they require her services."

He furrowed his brows. "They weren't aiming to kill, then."

She swiped her talons downward. "They thought to barter the life of my kin for my future offspring! Had I agreed to the trade, my sisters would have become nothing more than chattel paraded around for your kind's amusement." Exhaling slowly, she cast her gaze around the battlefield. The tied-up witch whimpered and struggled under her glare. "Yet look what their greed has wrought. Thanks to you, my tribe and my children are safe for the foreseeable future."

"The Moravetz must've really wanted your egg," Harry said, eyeing the fallen. "Does it truly grant eternal youth as they say?"

The queen spread her wings while several harpies cawed angrily.

"What the hell, man," Tony hissed.

Wincing, Harry raised his hands. "Just idle curiosity on my part."

The queen's penetrating gaze made him feel like a worm. "I do not know. My magic is potent, passed to me in an unbroken line since the days we reigned over the mountains of Pindus, as I shall pass it to my offspring—but it is not for humans to exploit. If you are truly a friend, you will not speak of such things again."

He bobbed his head. "Got it. Forgive me, er, for speaking out of turn."

The queen stared at him a while longer, then turned to address her tribe in their song-like tongue. The harpies scattered, some taking to the skies, others hopping around the field aided by brief flaps of their wings. Tony swiveled his head, then approached the redhead who'd stayed behind.

Well, at least his blunder hadn't devolved into a fight. Harry took a minute to put himself to rights, shrugging off his shredded robes with a pained grunt, and patching up his injuries to the best of his ability. His efforts left him no longer bleeding, if not entirely presentable.

He saw a harpy take off with the trident and didn't dare object. The rest bounded around the meadow, rummaging through the mobsters' pockets and collecting their belongings. He approached the queen, who was observing with grim satisfaction.

"What's to become of them?"

She gave him a feral smile. "We shall dump them at the foot of the mountain and give the hags a feast."

"Oh, no, no, no," Harry said as his stomach lurched. "That's just _wrong_. Many of them are still alive!"

Her eyes glinted dangerously. "Do you truly feel sympathy for the scum? It's no less than they deserve!"

"Sympathy or not, there won't be any feasting on human flesh—not if I can help it." He glanced over his shoulder. "Right, Tony?"

Tony seemed to only be listening with one ear as he tried to chat up the redhead. "What? Those fuckers can rot for all I care." He quailed when Harry wheeled around to glare. "Uh, I mean, sure. Chuck them into prison instead or whatever."

Harry turned back to the queen. "There you have it. If you won't concede, we're going to have problems." He held his wand loosely at his side, pointing down but ready to use.

"You threaten me when I have my entire tribe at my beck and call? For these brutes, who would kill you without a second thought?" The queen's amber eyes locked with his, and the wind from her wings ruffled his tattered clothes.

He stood his ground, staring back until his eyes watered.

She lowered her arms slowly. "So be it. I do not understand your decision, but I respect your strength and what you did for us."

She sang out a series of notes, making every harpy in the vicinity take notice. After exchanging curious looks, they divided into pairs and began clamping their taloned feet around the mobsters' shoulders and taking ponderously to the air.

Harry observed warily. "Where are they taking them?"

"The village," the queen said coldly. "Let your own kind deal with them if you so insist."

He watched their awkward flight take them over the treetops. The direction seemed right, at least. "We'll drop by, just to make sure everything's fine."

The queen let out an undignified snort. "Do as you please. We have business there ourselves." She broke eye contact to glare at Lenka, who was skulking nearby. "It's high time we concluded it; we've tarried far too long in the outside world if we attracted so many dirt-crawling lowlifes."


	5. Fantastic Monster Girls, Part 5

The afternoon found Harry and Tony stuffing their faces at the village pub. The Moravetz thugs were being attended to by a healer and some impromptu wardens in a barn on the outskirts and awaiting tomorrow when Aurors would be called to arrest them. Harry figured he and Tony might as well enjoy themselves for the time being—after learning of their role in subduing the mobsters, the red-haired barkeep, who'd introduced himself as Miroslav, insisted on treating them to every local specialty and refused to take a single Knut in payment.

The atmosphere was markedly different from their previous visit. The conversations of the patrons melded into a comfortable murmur, and a peppy waitress wove between the tables hauling trays of food and drink. Harry gorged on sauerkraut soup, potato dumplings with sheep cheese, and other dishes she deposited on their table one after another until he felt he'd burst if he had another bite. It was satisfying to fill his belly with real food after subsisting on premade meals, tolerable as they had been.

"It was great, cheers," he told Miroslav, who'd come up to ask if everything was to their liking. "I especially liked the... those sweet buns." He drew a circle with his finger.

"_Parené buchty_?"

"Bless you," Tony said, making Miroslav cock his head in confusion.

"Anyway, it's been a pleasure," Harry said, rising off his chair with some difficulty, "but we better make ourselves scarce before the Aurors arrive."

"Oh no, you can't leave yet," Miroslav said. "We must drink to our new friendship first!"

Harry exchanged a look with Tony. "A couple drinks won't hurt, I suppose."

The barkeep nodded. "Come, you must try our _slivovica_. Made right here in Zubrovec!"

They walked up to the bar where Miroslav produced three shot glasses and filled them with an amber liquid from a dusty unlabeled bottle.

"From our own Babička Jana. Tourists never get this, only friends. I know she has to be using magic for it to come out this good, but she keeps her recipe secret." He raised his glass. "To friendship!"

"Friendship," they echoed.

Miroslav downed the shot without batting an eye. Not to be outdone, Harry mimicked the motion. Something resembling plummy jet fuel burned its way down his gullet, and he started coughing uncontrollably, slamming his empty glass on the counter.

"Strong, yes?" Miroslav said proudly and poured him another. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but only a weak groan came out. "Come on, drink, drink. _Na zdravie!_"

Blinking tears out of his eyes, Harry regarded the glass with reluctance. Rescue came in the form of the doors creaking open, and swiveling on his stool, he spied the village elder entering the pub. They had last seen the rotund man an hour ago, deep in conversation with the harpy queen, his head no longer bandaged after yesterday's altercation.

The elder trudged up to the bar and adjusted the tails of his robes before slumping down a couple seats away. Giving the Englishmen a cagey glance, he spoke several sentences to Miroslav. The barkeep pulled a face, produced another glass, and filled it up without a word.

"What's up?" Tony asked with the subtlety of a Reductor Curse**.**

The elder exchanged a glance with Miroslav before waving them off. "Nothing... nothing is up, friends. Please, just enjoy your stay. You don't have to worry about anything. It's the least we can do in thanks."

Harry tossed his drink back with a cringe. "_Oof_. Help me understand, John—"

"It's Ján," the elder said mournfully.

"Uh-huh. The way I see it, we saved the day, the bad guys are getting tossed in jail, and you and the harpies can live in peace and harmony. So why the long face?"

Ján eyed his drink before taking a sip. "I shouldn't... It is not for strangers to know. You've already done a great deal for Zubrovec... I can't possibly trouble you further..." He polished off his glass.

"Oi, get this chap another drink." Tony migrated to a stool adjacent to Ján's and clapped him on the back. "Look, Harry and I, we can keep a secret—and to be blunt, after all we've been through, we deserve to know. What's the deal with this village? Why are you protecting the harpies?"

Miroslav refilled the glass without a word, and Ján stared at it glumly for a minute before speaking. "It is they who protect us, not the other way around... at least, that's how it was originally."

"Ján," Miroslav said.

"_Som stratený,_ Miroslav." The elder sighed and finished his drink in one gulp. "Maybe an outsider's perspective is what we need."

Miroslav shook his head, set the bottle down before him, and left to tend to other patrons. Harry sidled closer as Ján gathered his thoughts.

"Zubrovec is old, very old," Ján began. "It wasn't always the small village you see today... During times of war and famine, people flocked here from all over, because when others starved, we always thrived. And being surrounded by mountains is only a part of the reason why. Mountains don't stop wizards and witches... It was because we were _protected_.

"It was my many-times predecessor, a great man, who forged the accord between our tribes. Our ancestors were fleeing the Avars, and theirs were seeking a new home after being chased from their nesting grounds down south." He shook his head ruefully. "Centuries have passed, but men's greed remains the same."

Tony shifted in his seat as the silence stretched on. "He made a pact with the harpies?"

Ján nodded. "If it was ever put to parchment, it's long gone now, but its spirit endures. They sing rain onto our pastures and fields, and ensure clear skies during harvest. My predecessors' journals claim they're obligated to defend us against invaders, but we've been blessed with peace for decades. It may be wrong of me to say this, but sometimes I wish it weren't so. The village always shrinks during peaceful times, with young people seeking excitement elsewhere, and I fear... I fear it will be in my lifetime that the accord will be broken at last."

Harry furrowed his brows. "I take it their weather-working services come at a price?"

"A steep one," Ján said, his shoulders drooping. "We only have to send tribute once every generation, but this time, we don't have any volunteers. I've stalled Lenka for as long as I could, but now the queen herself has come to demand a suitable mate to be chosen by this evening."

Tony's jaw fell open, and he exchanged a look with Harry before throwing up his hands. "_Score_!"

Harry chuckled in disbelief. "You've got to be _shitting_ me. This kind of stuff doesn't happen in the real world."

Scowling, Ján half-rose from the stool. "You mock our misfortune? Telling you was a mistake!"

"Settle down, John, please," he said, swallowing back laughter. As outlandish as the elder's story sounded, he would withhold judgment until he heard it in its entirety. "How can you have no volunteers? I mean, isn't their job to... you know... with that queen?" He mimed breasts before his chest.

Ján stared at them in turn; Harry schooled his expression while Tony seemed unable to do anything but grin like a loon. At last, the elder sighed and sat back down.

"Ah, I see. You're young, and this all seems like... how do you British say it... a _lark_." Ján almost spat the word out. "That is not so. The men who are chosen, they never come back."

Harry gulped. "Do they eat them after they're done or something?"

"Never that! The Búrkový Vrchol—the Storm Peak, as you'd call it—is hidden from human eyes, but those who gaze upon it once can always find their way back. The tribe fears that should a man leave, he might lead others to ravage their nesting grounds... Given what happened today, I do not blame them. And so the men sent as tribute are doomed to live out their days on the mountain, never to see their families or indeed another human face, only kept alive for breeding."

"Sounds _terrible_," Tony said with a cheek-splitting grin.

Nodding absently, Ján set about refilling his drink. He knocked the glass back and said hoarsely, "Now you know why I am devastated, friends. I have to be the one who breaks a centuries-long accord... Or the one who coerces a young man to sacrifice himself for the good of the village. Neither choice appeals to me."

"Gee, what a predicament." Tony tapped his lips with a finger before addressing Harry. "Do you want to say it or should I?"

"Do you _have_ to?" He sighed good-naturedly. "Oh, go ahead."

"I volunteer!" Tony cried, bolting to his feet. "I volunteer as tribute!"

"Hmm, seven out of ten," Harry said, high-fiving him.

The babble in the pub quieted before growing in volume again. Ján goggled at their antics, then barked out a mirthless laugh.

"You _still_ don't understand. The harpies don't live like we do—their only family is the tribe. Your position would be like that of a ram in a flock of ewes. After they get what they want, you'll be nothing but a mouth to feed until the next rut."

"But you don't really know that, do you?" Tony asked. "Seeing how no one's ever returned and all."

"I know enough," Ján said darkly. "The journals speak of a time the tribe came to request an early tribute, as the previous one had hurled himself off the mountain. They assured the then-elder that they'd taken... measures so that doesn't happen again."

As Ján hunched over his drink, Tony caught Harry's eye, mimed flying a broom, and tipped his chin up in question. Harry did a quick mental inspection, then nodded, causing his eyes to light up.

"You've certainly put this into perspective." Tony sounded like he was struggling to keep a sober tone. "And we still want to go."

"After everything I told you?" Ján's hands shook as he clasped them together. "In good conscience, I can't let you do this..."

Tony leaned closer, his eyes burning with unholy fervor. "Think of your village," he crooned. "Let us go, and the accord is held up for at least another year. No one will miss a pair of strangers. Everybody wins."

"You would do this for us? Truly?" A tear rolled down Ján's fleshy jowls.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "What are friends for, eh? We'll take one for the team."

Ján turned his misty eyes on Harry, and after receiving a nod, rose to his feet unsteadily and clasped his hand with both of his. "Oh, thank you, _thank you_! Miroslav, do you hear? Zubrovec is saved! These kind men saved us again!"

The bartender stared at them with his brows furrowed. "Insane men, if you ask me. Drink your fill this evening and take as much as you can with you. I'll get Lenka to ferry you a few bottles whenever she comes down. No man deserves to live without proper drink."

Ján bobbed his head. "Yes, yes... And you'll need spices, salt, and winter cloaks, and... I must tell everyone! _Bože môj_, it's a weight off my chest! We're going to have a celebration!" He pumped Harry's and Tony's hands vigorously, then rushed out of the pub, leaving them to be swarmed by curious patrons.

* * *

The sun was sinking beyond the horizon when the locals began congregating in the square, setting up tables and heaping them with food, drink, and sundries. Miroslav rolled out a keg of beer to boisterous cheers, and the magicals among the crowd lit the place up with floating candles. One man was twiddling with a carved flute as tall as himself, producing a melancholic tune that reverberated in the air.

A procession of villagers approached Harry and Tony to convey their thanks. Among them was the balding shopkeeper who apologized profusely as he shook their hands, the bloke who had directed them to the pub, and many more. Most didn't speak a lick of English, so all Harry could do was nod and smile, but the gratitude in their voices was unmistakable.

Many came bearing gifts. An elderly woman pressed a fat jar of pickles into Tony's hands as she blubbered her thanks.

"My son is without wife... If you not go, they take him away... Thank you, _ďakujem z celého srdca_..."

Tony inclined his head. "I'll bear that burden in his stead."

When the stream of well-wishers dwindled, Miroslav presented Harry and Tony with brimming goblets and ushered them into the middle of the crowd. Ján clambered on a chair to make a speech, which ended with everyone hailing them loudly.

"Is this what your life was after bumping off Voldemort?" Tony yelled into his ear. "If so, I'm never letting you complain about getting mobbed wherever you go again."

"It gets old." Taking a long draft from his goblet, he smacked his lips. "Oi, Miro! What am I drinking?"

"Best mead this side of Tatry," the barkeep said, shouldering his way through the throng. "Like it, friend?"

Harry had barely dipped his head in agreement when his goblet was filled to overflowing once more. He toasted Miroslav and quaffed the honey-flavored drink.

As the revelry went on, his goblet never seemed to empty, and with him already buzzed from that afternoon, the evening passed in a pleasant haze. Before he knew it, the first stars twinkled in the darkening sky, and Ján was craning his neck toward the mountains with increasing regularity. When a faraway cry came from that direction, a hush fell over the square.

"It is time," Ján said gravely. He clapped once and spoke in his language, sending everyone into a flurry of activity. "Come, friends, we'll see you off."

They followed him through the crowd receiving sympathetic farewells, pats on their shoulders, and in one case, vulgar advice on handling their upcoming duties. The man who offered that particular suggestion was cuffed on the back of his head by a woman beside him, resulting in amused laughter.

Ján tarried at the edge of the square until they were joined by Miroslav and two blokes whose names eluded Harry, their arms laden with gifts. In contrast to Harry's and Tony's grins, which hadn't faded the entire evening, the faces of their escorts were positively funereal.

They stepped off the pavement and onto a trail leading up the meadow, and Ján lit his wand, chasing away the darkness but not the chill that came with the nightfall. Harry did up the top button of his casual robes and stuffed his hands into his pockets, his breath coming out in wisps of steam.

"This is where we bid goodbye." Ján huffed and puffed for several more steps, rising to the crest of the hill, where he waved his wand over his head. "They will be coming... Short-lived as your stay was, it was nice knowing you, friends."

"The pleasure's all ours, believe me," Tony said, shielding his eyes from the _Lumos_ to stare at the sky.

Harry fidgeted, deliberating on whether to voice his concerns, but seeing the mournful demeanor of the locals, he just couldn't leave them thinking he and Tony were some kind of martyrs. He coughed once.

"Look, fellas... this is off the record, but you'd do well to figure out the accord situation by next year. Break it, abandon the village, send in another chump—it's all the same to me. Just be ready, yeah?"

Ján considered him before slowly shaking his head. "The sooner you do away with your false hopes of escaping their clutches, the easier it will be to settle into your new life."

Harry shrugged at the pitying looks the locals directed his way. "Just giving you a heads-up, mate. It's your village."

Ján looked like he wanted to say more, but a flapping of wings came, and everyone tilted their heads back to watch multiple harpies descend from the navy blue sky. Five alighted in a semicircle before the men, and in their midst landed the queen. Ján gave a short bow and spoke in Slovak; the queen's amber eyes lingered on Harry and Tony before she responded in kind.

Seeing Lenka among the queen's retinue, Harry gave her a jaunty wave. She glanced at her sisters, then broke rank and slunk up to him.

"Why you here?" she hissed.

He grinned. "I think you know already. We'll be seeing a lot more of each other."

"You not understand—"

Melodious laughter rang out, and the queen walked up to Harry in a bouncy gait that did wonderful things to her breasts. Lenka glared at him before scooting out of the way.

"I could have never foreseen this, but it is not an unpleasant development," she said, looking him over. "Yes... I've witnessed your prowess first-hand. Should you prove as virile as you are powerful, you will have the honor of siring my heir."

"What about _my_ prowess?" Tony piped up.

The queen gestured at the harpies behind her. "My kin number in the hundreds. They will be delighted to have a strapping man like yourself attending to them."

"I'm not dreaming, right?" he breathed, pinching his forearm.

"But tell me, young warriors," she continued in a more somber tone, "are you truly ready to give yourselves up for Zubrovec? You are not even of this land."

"As a man, I simply can't abandon you after hearing of your plight," Tony said solemnly.

The queen laughed in delight. "I do not recall ever having such willing volunteers. Will you prove your resolve by relinquishing your wands?"

"Er, how come?" Harry asked.

"We cannot risk your mighty magic interfering with the enchantments concealing our eyrie. It is the only place we can live free of persecution, after all." She spoke so smoothly it felt like a well-rehearsed pretext. "Fear not. We shall keep them safe and return them as the need arises. We simply do not want any mishaps."

"You ladies can have my wand anytime," Tony said, wagging his eyebrows. At the queen's gesture, a harpy hopped closer and snatched the wand from his extended hand.

Harry suppressed a groan; he'd pilfered more than enough substitutes from the bandits. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he materialized one at random and presented it to the queen with a mock flourish. Lenka came up to take it, furrowing her brows at the stubby walnut shaft in his palms yet not commenting.

"Excellent," the queen purred. "Now we return home and give our new consorts a warm welcome. Our agreement stands, people of Zubrovec, for as long as these two can fulfill their duties adequately."

The villagers handed over the gifts, and the harpies split up, one taking a great sack of luggage, and two standing behind Harry and Tony each. Tony was rolling on the balls of his feet and glancing over his shoulder, barely paying attention as the men exchanged hurried handshakes.

"Remember what I said," Harry whispered as he pulled Ján closer for an instant.

The queen gave a musical trill, and the harpies took off in a gust of wind. As their feet clamped on Harry's shoulders, he yelped and grabbed onto their pebbly ankles to take some weight off. The pain of the talons digging into his flesh passed as an uncanny lightness spread through his body, and before he knew it, his feet were dangling high above the ground, rhythmic flapping filling his ears. He glanced up before quickly ducking his head; while the view was rather intriguing, the blast of air to the face was less so.

He let go with one hand to wave at the meadow. The figures of the villagers shrank with every labored beat of the harpies' wings, until only a pinprick of light remained visible, staying still for a minute before drifting back to rejoin the brighter glow of Zubrovec. Then the harpies exchanged cries and changed course, and Harry was left facing blackness.

He blinked as his glasses revealed a dark mountain before them, thinking that to be their destination, yet the harpies turned west and skirted it. A little ways ahead, Lenka toiled to carry the bundle of goods from the village, while Tony and his bearers were bobbing up and down below. A glance over his shoulder revealed the queen trailing their small cortege, her ivory feathers standing out in the night sky.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Alright, Tony?"

Tony's straw hair shifted. "You kidding? This is the best day of my life!"

Chuckling, he blew on his hands for warmth. They were still gaining altitude, and the cold nipped at his skin despite the alcohol warming his stomach. His breaths came deep and fast, the crisp air scouring his lungs.

"Pay heed, humans." The queen's dulcet tones carried easily to his ears. "This is a sight few of your kind get to witness."

Frowning, Harry searched the nebulous skies for anything out of the ordinary. They were flying above a plateau now, the next peak still far ahead and hardly measuring up to the one they left behind.

The queen sang a sequence of sharp notes, and the air ahead blurred as a wall of roiling black clouds was superimposed over the starry sky. Harry gaped, suspecting it to be an illusion, but the icy mist washing over him as they crossed the shimmering boundary disabused him of that notion.

He sputtered and shook his head. Droplets of water rolled across his glasses, and he lost sight of Tony, barely making out Lenka's silhouette ahead. Unpredictable winds buffeted them from all sides, and he held onto the harpies' ankles as they dipped suddenly before regaining control.

The storm ended as abruptly as it had begun, the surroundings brightening as they burst out into clear skies. Ahead loomed the largest mountain Harry had ever set eyes upon, starkly outlined in the moonlight. A coniferous forest covered a quarter of its height, and the rest was grey rock and snow, dotted throughout with flickering orange lights. The impenetrable black clouds behind them were already fading back into a starry sky.

The queen spoke with pride. "No one can find this place, save those who we welcome, and flight is the only mode of transportation permitted. This is our home, and yours from now on, humans."

"The name's Harry," he said absently as he drank in the sights.

The incessant bobbing that had accompanied the journey ceased as his carriers spread their wings to their full breadth and glided towards the looming mountain face. Lenka and Tony's duo kept flapping, separating from Harry's group.

"Oi! Don't forget to stay hydrated!" he yelled at their retreating backs. The distance grew so quickly he didn't hear Tony's answer, if there was one.

Their descent gained momentum, the wind whooshing in his ears and ruffling his hair. Spying a shadowy cave in the precipice they were hurtling toward, and then a small ledge jutting out below, he bent his knees in preparation. They plunged at stomach-churning speed before the harpies whipped their wings and came to a rough halt mid-air. Pain lanced through his shoulders, but before he could so much as make a noise, their talons loosened.

Dropping the last few inches, he stumbled on the crumbling ledge, his body suddenly heavy and cumbersome. He glanced over his shoulder at the three harpies hovering above a dizzying drop, then gulped and stepped into the cave. Rusty iron bars were set into the rock at the entrance, with a matching door that was currently ajar; he stared until someone shoved him in the back. Turning around, he scowled.

"Forgive this youngster her impudence," the queen said, landing next to the two carriers. She swatted the culprit's rear, making her squeak. "She does not speak your language and is ignorant of the ways of humans."

He jerked his chin at the bars. "And this?"

She spread her hands. "Merely a measure of safety. Your well-being is crucial to the tribe."

Snorting, he stepped through; with a wand, these wouldn't even slow him down, but he had been curious to hear her justification. A fur curtain hung beyond the bars, and he pushed it aside to discover a lukewarm cavern lit dimly by a hearth of dying embers. Animal pelts were scattered across the floor, and a crooked shelf stood against one wall, stocked with pots, bottles, books, and other paraphernalia. A sound of trickling water came from somewhere not immediately obvious.

The queen squeezed past him. "This nest has been furnished anew, although we kept the books. Should you prove cooperative, you can have your wand to adjust things to your liking."

"Cooperative, huh?" He grinned, facing her. "Won't be a problem."

Her lips stretched into a sultry smile, and she tossed her damp hair back before combing it with her fingers. Dew clung to her fair skin and fairer feathers, glistening in the firelight.

"I intended to allow you your rest tonight, but flying through the barrier is so... invigorating." She stepped closer, and the temperature in the cave seemed to spike. "Don't you agree?"

He tugged at his collar, inhaling the scent of spring rain and wildflowers. "Uh, absolutely."

Gripping his lapels, she yanked him in for a hungry kiss. Without warning, her talons raked his chest, and the buttons of his robes clattered to the floor. He gasped and pulled back, staring into her half-lidded eyes. Perhaps because of the rarefied air, his head was spinning, so when she shoved him, he plopped down on a fuzzy pelt without resistance.

The queen pounced and straddled his waist, a bead of moisture falling from the tips of her white hair onto his bare chest. She rocked against him, her predatory smile widening.

"Some men have trouble performing, given our appearance," she said huskily. "I'm glad you're not one of their number, consort."

"It's _Harry_." Despite his petulant tone, he was grinning.

"Humans are so forgettable." She leaned over, her hot breath tickling his ear. "If you wish to be addressed by name, give me something to remember you by."

"That's the plan," he murmured.

He ran his palms up her smooth thighs, pausing curiously when they brushed the patch of fluff extending up to her navel, but before he could explore further, a movement in the corner of his vision drew his attention. The other two harpies perched on the floor nearby, watching with dark eyes and pink cheeks, their dewy wings folded over their bodies like cloaks.

Meeting the queen's amber gaze, he tipped his head right. "We, ah, have an audience."

She spared the two a glance. "My kin await their turn. They worked hard to carry you here—surely you won't deny them their prize?"

"Gee," he said, ogling them, "if you insist."

One harpy ducked her head and tightened her wings around herself, shooting him an upturned glance, while the other licked her lips and bared her teeth.

A taloned hand slapped his chest, forcing him to look up.

"Enough! You service me now, understand?" The queen's lips were set in an entirely unqueenly pout as she slid backwards, her downy feathers tickling, and burrowed her fingers under the waistband of his trousers. "The wait has been too long. I do not intend to leave until I am satisfied, consort."

"I told you, it's Ha—"

He yelped as her talons raked down, slicing fabric and grazing skin. Glowering, he opened his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, but then she sank down on him, and such trifles no longer mattered.


	6. Fantastic Monster Girls, Part 6

Harry cracked open his eyes, then rolled on his back to escape the glaring sun. He stared at the blurry stone ceiling, overtaken by the confusion of waking up in an unfamiliar place, until the last vestiges of sleep fled, and a smile found its way onto his lips. The furs underneath itched, and the floor was bumpy, but after the harpies had left—not much for cuddling, that lot—he slept like a log.

He located his glasses, rose, and stretched. The fire in the hearth was long gone, but the cave walls were dappled with sunlight streaming through the gaps in the curtain. His clothes lay in tatters around him, as did several brown and white feathers. He absently scratched his pubes, flicked away a piece of white fluff with a snort, then materialized his wand and set about cleaning up and repairing his garments_._

Once dressed, he strode up to the curtains and parted them to let in more light. A fresh breeze blew the stale air out of the cavern, making him shiver. He studied the rusty bars before him, now latched with a lock, then tapped them with his wand.

The door screeched open, and bracing against the wall, he cautiously stepped out onto the ledge. There was nothing but open space between here and the faraway mountain peaks, not a shimmer betraying the presence of the barrier that veiled the eyrie. Far below, spruce trees pointed skyward like tiny candles, sprawling down to a fog-shrouded valley.

He inched forward, wanting nothing more than to inhale a lungful of crisp air and scream it out, but spying a handful of winged figures beneath the fluffy clouds scudding overhead made him reconsider. Giving in to a different urge, he unzipped his trousers and relieved himself. With a self-conscious look skyward, he retreated inside.

Whistling a tune, he explored his humble abode—and humble was indeed the right word, for there wasn't much to it beyond what he had glimpsed yesterday. Besides grimy kitchen utensils, which he promptly charmed clean, the shelves only held moldy books in foreign languages. The most interesting discovery was a nook in the back, where crystal-clear water was constantly falling from the ceiling and draining down a hole in the floor.

He sniffed the stream before taking a gulp, grimacing when the cold stung his teeth. A shower sounded good, but he would have to figure out a way to warm the water as it flowed. A runic array centered around _Kenaz_, perhaps...

A jangle of metal jarred him out of his musings. Stashing his wand, he stepped into the main cavern to find two harpies standing at the entrance. There was a silence as he and the guests looked one another over.

Neither was someone he recalled seeing before. Besides the petite builds and aquiline features typical of their kind, they shared further similarities that suggested a close relation: flaxen hair that fell to their wiry shoulders, tiny freckles sprinkled across their pert noses, and tawny plumage that glowed warmly in the sunlight.

At his curious gaze, the shorter of the two draped a wing over her front and averted her eyes, her cheeks tinged pink. A twig was sticking out of the windswept tangle that was her hair.

The taller had hers in orderly braids and stood with proud confidence. Her bare chest heaved in a rather distracting manner, and her hand clutched something grey and furry. Noticing his interest, she lifted it; it looked like a dead rabbit.

"Break-fast," she intoned.

"Oh joy," he deadpanned. "Please tell me you're going to cook that."

His sarcasm was clearly lost on her as she merely nodded and hopped toward the shelves with gentle flutters of her wings. The second harpy's gaze lingered on him fleetingly before she followed suit, giving him a wide berth.

The pair made short work of skinning and gutting the rabbit, employing their talons as much as the knife they borrowed from the shelf. Harry observed with queasy fascination as the shorter licked the blood off her fingers in a manner that could almost be called dainty until the other slapped her hand.

"What are your names?" he asked. "I'm Harry, but you probably already know that."

The taller harpy lifted her gaze off her grisly work and warbled a series of notes.

"Er, _scree-eee-ee_..." Harry pouted as she burst out in laughter. Their language appeared to be all about modulation, and he had little hope of replicating it with his tongue. Turning toward the smaller harpy, he said, "I take it you don't have a human name either?"

Her yellowish eyes widened at the attention and she ducked her head.

"My younger sister." The taller trilled a melody that evoked a feeling of soaring through open skies. "She... shy, yes? Bad hunter." A frown briefly crossed her face before she returned to preparing the rabbit.

"Right then, you're Braids, and she's, uh"—he ran his eyes down the younger's body—"Peaches."

The older touched her elaborately braided hair and snorted. "Silly human."

Stooping over the hearth, she splayed her fingers out and tensed until producing a tiny spark that she deftly directed into the wood shavings her sister had placed inside. Said sister kept mouthing her new moniker to herself before noticing Harry's attention and curling herself into a feathery ball. Braids gave an entirely human-like huff but let her be, now stuffing vegetables and herbs into the rabbit and spitting it to roast over the burgeoning fire.

"We wash," she declared. Rising from her squat, she trilled at her sister, who gave Harry a skittish glance before unfurling her wings and scurrying after.

He watched their firm backsides disappear around the corner, then sat back with a sigh. Eyeing the bloody carcass dubiously, he checked his secret supplies and found only a couple of premade meals remaining. Well, he would have to try the harpies' culinary efforts eventually.

The steady burble of water that he was already getting used to was interrupted by splashes and girlish squeals. His sustenance-related woes forgotten, he sprang to his feet and crept toward the source of that delectable noise. The harpies had no qualms about prancing around naked, so sneaking a peek or two should be perfectly fine, right?

He found Peaches wiggling under the waterfall while her sister groomed her spread wings. Braids warbled chidingly, and she stilled briefly only to squirm again when her sister's fingers combed through her feathers. This earned her a swat on the bottom, and she squeaked before cupping her hands and splashing water in her sister's face. The elder sputtered, her braids hanging limp, then bared her teeth and sloped her wings, directing a chilly stream at Peaches' midriff. She wasted no time in retaliating, and both girls dissolved into giggles as they cavorted in the water.

Braids was the first to freeze and gape at Harry. Peaches followed her gaze and let out a startled peep, attempting to sidle behind her, which proved difficult given the size of the nook.

He grinned. "Don't mind me. Please, continue."

Exchanging a glance, the harpies swept out a wing each, and an icy gush slapped his face, knocking his glasses askew. Blowing water out of his nostrils, he stumbled back into the cavern.

"Why, you little..." Peals of laughter rang round the back; he scowled, then smiled despite himself. "If that's how you want to play..."

Glancing at his damp robes, he steeled his resolve. The water had been bollock-freezing cold, but men didn't balk when such perky prizes awaited them around the corner. He hurriedly divested himself of his clothes, took a deep breath, and rushed in.

His eyes registered the harpies' surprise before reflexively squeezing shut as frigid water doused his head. A shriek—nay, a manly scream—escaped his throat, and he braced his palms against the slippery rock, resisting the urge to bolt back. Straightening up, he squinted through the water shedding off his spectacles at the sisters on his either side.

Peaches squeaked as he turned around, brushing warm flesh and damp feathers. There wasn't room to swing a Kneazle, but he wasn't about to complain: besides being a feast for the eyes, the closeness of their bodies took the edge off the biting cold.

"Refreshing," he said, trying to suppress his shivers. "Hey, wanna see a magic trick?"

"You not have wand," Braids said, her brows furrowing.

"Oh, I don't need it for this." He interlinked his fingers, forming his palms into a sphere and allowing it to fill with water. "Check this out."

Braids gave him a skeptical look before leaning in. He squeezed his palms, squirting a jet of water that hit her between the eyes. She jerked back, and he snickered at her peeved expression.

"Gotcha."

She crossed her arms and gave an unimpressed trill. By the time he realized the sound wasn't meant for him, it was too late; the second enemy pounced, her soft feather tips whisking down his ribs. As he howled with laughter, Braids chucked a palmful of water at his face. Sputtering, he groped behind him until his hands squeezed pliant flesh, and Peaches retreated with a cheep_,_ freeing him to counterattack her sister.

They frolicked until his fingers went pruney and numb. The falling water barely felt cold anymore as he sagged against the wall, gulping down air.

"C'mhere, Braids," he said, beckoning. "Warm my hands for me."

She snorted and tossed her hair. "Spring water cold for human?"

"Now, now, you don't want to have to tell the queen that her precious consort froze his fingers off, do you?" He unceremoniously tucked his hands under her glistening wings, causing her to gasp and squirm. "That's incredible. How do you guys stay so warm?"

Biting her lip, she threw her arms up. Taking that as an invitation, Harry slid his palms lower, marveling at the heat of her slick skin. She leaned closer, her face a mask of fierce concentration.

"Now _I _show magic."

He froze, his gaze darting around the nook. Coming to a realization that the flow of water had stopped, he craned his neck back and gaped. Wisps of vapor were leaving Braids' outstretched fingers, suspending the water above their heads in a sphere.

A_ rapidly growing _sphere.

Nearly dropping to all fours, he scrambled outside. "Oh shi—"

A rush in his ears was his only warning before a torrent slammed into his back, flattening him against the ground, and his mouth opened in a yell, immediately filling with freezing water. He felt a twinge of panic, but the water quickly drained, leaving him coughing and groaning.

He flipped over. Braids towered over him with an insufferably smug expression, while her sister peered over her shoulder with what might have been concern.

"You don't know how to hold back, do you?" he wheezed, catching his breath. "Fine, you win this t-time."

She nodded as if that had been the only possible outcome, then ran her eyes over his supine form with shameless curiosity. When her gaze drifted to his crotch, she trilled and tipped her head; Peaches stared with rapt fascination until she noticed him looking back and hid behind her sister.

He sat up cross-legged and covered himself. "It's n-normally bigger," he said through chattering teeth, making Braids giggle. "Don't suppose your mighty magic can dry somebody?" He cast his gaze around, rather doubting that beast pelts made good towels.

Braids rolled her eyes. "Watch."

Clasping her hands together, she sang until wisps of wind emerged at her feet, gaining speed as they spiraled up her legs and torso carrying away the moisture. The wind spun above her head, tousling her hair, before exploding in a spray of cold water. Puffing her feathers, she experimentally flapped her wings.

Harry applauded. "B-brilliant. Can every one of you do that?"

"This... careful magic. Not many can." Her face soured. "Others say is silly. We not weak to cold like humans."

"Well, I'm just a weak human, so d-do me—whoa!"

He danced on his tiptoes as wind snaked up his body, tickling his skin. Another outward spray left him mercifully dry if not one bit warmer. With numb fingers, he hurriedly slipped into his clothes, then crawled to the hearth and stuck out his hands. A delicious smell was wafting off the roast, and juices dripped onto the hot coals now and then with an appetizing sizzle.

"Is it done yet?"

Braids shook her head, making her frizzy hair sway. "Little longer."

"But I'm hungry," he whinged.

She rolled her eyes. "Elders teach make food for weak humans. If you eat raw meat, you get sick."

He drew back the hand he had been extending toward the spit. "Well, we wouldn't want that."

Squatting down next to him, Braids pointed a long-nailed finger at his chest. "This is?"

Glancing down, he saw that he had left his dragon scale pendant outside his robes. "Oh, just a little trophy. You feathery ladies are in the presence of the world's youngest Dragonslayer." The harpies stared at him mutely. "You know dragons, right? Huge, ferocious beasts that breathe fire. Rawr!"

Braids burst out laughing. "Queen tell story of time dragon fly through barrier. Tribe fight long, long to drive it off. What one wingless ape do?"

"Defeat it with my awesome magic, naturally." He pretended to flourish a wand, adding some sound effects for good measure.

She shook her head. "Lie. Magic not hurt dragon."

Kneeling a little distance away, Peaches warbled softly. Braids turned to reply, and the sisters conversed in their melodious tongue until the elder faced him again, looking somewhat surly.

"My sister... want know how you fight dragon." She snorted. "She silly."

"Peachy!" Harry exclaimed, swiveling her way and making her eyes widen. "You believe me?"

She lowered her gaze to the hands clasped in her lap, her tawny wings draped over her sides, and gave a tiny nod.

"Whatever your sister says, you're the one who has more sense between the two of you." He crept toward her on all fours, raising a palm when she made to scoot back. "No, no, stay just like that. I'm going to tell you all about my amazing exploits."

Before she could react, he rested his head in her lap and smiled contentedly as his gaze swept over her namesakes. Squeaking, she shot her sister an imploring glance, but Braids seemed more amused than anything. Peaches lowered her hands to his head as if to push him off, then clasped them before her chest, going pink in the face.

"It was about five years ago," he said, lifting the pendant to admire the light playing across its ebony surface. "My school organized a tournament, like those gladiator games of old. Picture a vast arena, a dragon chained at one end, and a lone wizard standing at the other, thousands in the audience screaming for either's blood." He turned his head a fraction. "Oi, translate for me, will you?"

Braids huffed but sang melodically, sketching a circle in the air. As Harry spun his tale, Peaches stopped squirming, only her gaze moving between him and her sister. He wasn't sure how much she understood—or believed—but having someone hang on to his every word was gratifying nonetheless.

A silence fell after Braids warbled out the last notes. Peaches stared down at his pendant, her lips parted as her hand stretched absently toward it. Harry proffered it to her, but as their fingers brushed, she chirped and drew back, shaking her head so frantically droplets of water sprayed from her damp hair.

"Is good tale," Braids said. "Like tribe songs. But is only tale. Not even queen can split sky and call ice goddess."

He gave her an impertinent grin. "Maybe I'm stronger than her then?"

"Maybe you so hungry you go crazy," she scoffed. "Come eat."

He raised his head an inch, then slumped back onto Peaches' soft thighs. "Feed me."

Braids tilted her head sideways.

He pointed at his mouth. "_Ahh_."

She laughed. "Silly human. You not newborn chick."

He gasped. "You mean you don't _know_?"

Her brows furrowed as she turned fully toward him. "What?"

"This is how humans eat," he said, struggling to keep a straight face. "It's our sacred custom."

She goggled at him, and it took all he had not to burst into laughter.

"If you don't feed me, I'll grow frail and useless to the tribe. Sorry, I thought someone as worldly as yourself would know something that simple—"

"I—I _know_!" Her gaze alternated between him and her sister, who was observing the exchange with bemusement. "I learn all about your kind... Yes, I feed you now. Like human custom."

He failed to stifle his grin. "Please do."

Winking at Peaches, he lazed in her lap while her sister cut the rabbit into pieces and piled them atop a chipped plate. Bringing it over, she gripped a boneless strip of meat between her talons and extended it solemnly toward him.

Harry's mouth watered at the scent. Lifting his head, he closed the last few inches and snatched the morsel from her fingers. A rich smoky flavor filled his mouth, and when he bit down, the erupting meat juices nearly scalded his tongue.

"Oh, man..." He swallowed with relish, then licked his lips. "You really can cook, Braids."

She averted her gaze, her hand rising to toy with her hair. "This—this is nothing. Next time I hunt something bigger."

"Looking forward to it."

Nodding, she picked up another slice, her feathers rustling slightly with the motion. He caught her greasy fingertips between his lips, giving them a lick as he took the food; Braids startled before shaking her head and offering him another piece with a small smile.

"Won't you eat too?" he asked before accepting it.

Braids eyed the plate. "If is too much, then we finish. But you must eat and keep strength!"

He laughed. "Got it."

It didn't take them long to polish off the plate, even though the harpies only nibbled on the less-cooked pieces, preferring to taste blood as Braids so eloquently put. They also turned their noses up at the vegetables, opting to stuff them down Harry's throat, so the generous meal left him heavy and languid. He was struggling to muster enough willpower to check if there was any tea among the goods from the village when Braids began fumbling with his belt buckle.

"What are you doing?" he asked, slowly raising his head.

She spared him a glance before returning to her task. "I bring food. Now we mate." Her tone implied he was stupid for asking.

"Of course," he murmured, grinning, "how silly of me."

* * *

Harry's days settled into a routine. He would wake up with the sunrise, go through his ablutions, and await his visitors, who would alight in his cave multiple times throughout the day bearing food and expecting just one thing in return. It was rare for the same person to drop by more than once, so his memories of their faces and the nicknames he christened them with blurred after the first dozen or two.

The queen came by once more, and never after that. Haughty as she was, he found himself missing the conversation, for few others could string together a sentence in English. Lenka being one of their number, he often wondered what she was up to, as he had not seen her since coming to the eyrie. It wasn't until two weeks into his stay that he found out.

It was afternoon, those few hours when he had time to himself, which he usually spent reading or tidying up. Satiated in every sense of the word, he wasn't much bothered by living in a literal cave, but there was no reason not to make the stay as comfortable as his admittedly amateur household spells permitted.

After meticulously vanishing the dirt off the floor, dusting the pelts, and scrubbing the cutlery, he found himself with nothing more to do. Frowning, he glanced at the books on the shelf, then the sad attempt at a rock carving on one wall; neither activity appealed at the moment. At last, he looked at the sliver of sky visible through the bars and perked up.

It was as good a time as any to repair his Firebolt.

Reclining on a bear rug propped against the wall, he materialized the broomstick and eyed it tip to butt. As his earlier cursory examination had revealed, the shaft wasn't fractured nor crooked, and the damage was limited to the tail. Most twigs were bent out of shape, and some were broken, hanging on by thin layers of bark.

He straightened a single twig and tapped it gently with his wand, smiling when the fracture in its middle mended. With nearly a hundred to go, he had his work set out for him, but he wasn't about to rush. A blanket Repairing Charm would've restored the broom enough to be steerable, but unless it was cast perfectly, there was a risk of introducing flaws—and he had grown too attached to his Firebolt to subject it to such a quick and dirty solution.

He was perhaps a third into the task when a rhythmic whooshing noise came from outside. Tutting, he stowed the incompletely repaired Firebolt away and rose to his feet, peering curiously at the cave mouth. It was unusual for anyone to come at this hour, even more so considering the visitor was alone, as he could tell by the sound.

As he was walking up to the entrance, a shadow flitted across the sunlight streaming in through the parted curtains. Shielding his eyes, he regarded the slender figure battling with the door barring her entry. Only when she stepped into the shade of the cavern did he recognize her.

"Lenka!" he exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug.

She stood stiff in his arms. "Hello... Ha-Harry."

He drew back sheepishly. Perhaps his greeting was too enthusiastic, but he hadn't seen a familiar face for weeks. "Er, come in, then. Would you like some tea?"

She looked like she was about to say something else, then did a double-take. "You have _tea_?"

He nodded. "There were a few tins among the supplies from the village. It's surprisingly decent... still not as good as British, obviously."

Lenka seemed hesitant, but when he ushered her in and gestured at a bear pelt, she knelt on it with a sigh. Stealing glances at her, he filled a sooty teakettle from the waterfall, hung it above the hearth, and fed the small fire a few sticks. It didn't take long for the water to boil, and soon they both held mugs of steaming black tea.

Grasping hers with both hands, Lenka brought it to her lips, inhaled the aroma, blew on the tea lightly, and took a delicate sip. A rare smile graced her face, fading when she noticed Harry's amused gaze.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. You just looked like you were really enjoying that."

She trailed a nail along the chipped rim of the mug. "Tribe not have this drink... I live with humans too long."

"Nothing wrong with having a vice or three," he said in a knowing tone. "Drop by for a cuppa whenever you want."

Emotions warred on her face before she took several hurried gulps, winced, and set the cup down. "No time. If others see, they lock me also. You want escape, yes?"

He twitched, cast his gaze around to make sure he hadn't left any incriminating evidence, then tittered. "What I want is irrelevant. Wingless ape, remember?"

"You not scream?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

She glanced toward the entrance, then scooted closer to him. "I come to your friend first, try help him. He fight me and scream nonsense."

"Is that why I haven't seen you in a while?" he blurted out. "You were with Tony?"

"I lay with no one," she said impatiently. "When sisters make nest, I can fly. Carry a human alone is hard, but one at time, go only down..."

He let out a chuckle that at Lenka's vexed expression became full-blown laughter. When her feathers ruffled—quite literally—he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Why would you break us out? I thought we were important to the tribe. Figured I was doing a pretty bang-up job myself." His lips curved into a grin.

Frowning, she mouthed the phrase 'bang-up job', then nodded. "Many sisters have young this autumn. The tribe survive until we receive new tribute." Her jaw squared and her eyes locked with his. "You save me, Harry. I not believe, I try to kill you, but you save me. Now... I save you."

He sipped his tea and gathered his thoughts. "Look... I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you don't have to do anything. Tony and I are exactly where we want to be." He met her nonplussed stare. "I don't want you risking your life either. No way your queen will let you off with a smack on the butt if you pull something like that."

She growled. "Why you not understand? If you not leave, we not get chance until next year. Maybe my sisters not trust me and lock me, and you stay until you become old!"

Harry reached out to pat her shoulder, but she smacked his hand away. He sighed. "We can take care of ourselves. You didn't hear it from me, but I might sort of possibly have a way out."

Her brows furrowed as she processed his words before her eyes widened. "You hide wand?"

"Neither you nor your sisters will find it, that's all I'm going to say," he said, winking. "And that's only a part of it."

She glanced around as if to disprove him, not appearing convinced.

"Besides," he continued, "even if we had to stay forever, there are worse places to spend a life in."

She shook her head. "I... not understand. You never see family. You not free."

Laying a hand on her shoulder—successfully this time—he spoke with gravitas. "You see, Lenka, if a man is dining on steak and shagging fit birds every day, there's almost nothing he won't put up with."

Her mouth formed an 'O', and she scanned his face as if gauging his seriousness. "But... we not like your women."

He grinned broadly. "Trust me, that's more of a bonus—doubly so for Tony."

She stared at him for a moment longer, then exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. "Then you stay."

"For now."

A silence ensued, which Harry used to finish his lukewarm tea. Lenka picked up her own mug and drained the dregs in one go. Glancing at the mug ruefully, she set it aside, then returned to scrutinizing him as if he were some rare creature.

"What is it?" he asked, not unkindly.

Ducking her head, she skimmed a hand down her flat abdomen. "I never meet so strange human. I hope... my daughters not strange." A faint blush crept up her cheeks as she peered at him with upturned eyes.

"Didn't you say you weren't going to—_ooh_."

* * *

Weeks passed. Even this high up the mountain, the weather warmed every day as spring gave way to summer. The flow of visitors dwindled to a trickle, their stays becoming shorter and their attitudes more aloof. Left with too much time on his hands and barely any company, Harry resorted to sending Patronus messages to Tony, but they all went unanswered. He curbed his restlessness until one morning the harpies didn't even deign to enter the cave, instead chucking a small furry carcass through the bars.

Harry nudged it with his toe. "Seriously, a _squirrel_? Doesn't even look like it has much meat on it." He greedily eyed the goat in the talons of the two harpies hovering before the entrance; its stew was the best meal he'd had up here.

"If you don't work, you need not eat much," one harpy said, her companion saving her breath.

He flashed her a grin. "Come inside and I'll be happy to work all day long."

She laughed, looking him up and down. "I'll come next spring, human."

The clapping of wings intensified as the harpies ascended laboriously. Harry pressed his face between the bars to yell.

"Next _year_? Oi! Aren't you going to cook for me?"

The more talkative harpy spared him a glance. "No time! Tribe needs much food!"

He watched them climb higher and higher until the cave's roof hid them from view. Sighing, he contemplated the furry meal that they so magnanimously provided. If this was the extent of the tribe's hospitality for the better part of the year, there was no reason to stay any longer.

He regarded his home of the past month. He left his mark on the place—covert Cushioning Charms here and there, an enchantment for absorbing the smoke above the hearth—that he hoped would make the stay more bearable for the next poor soul, should Ján not heed his warning and seek a more permanent solution.

With a spring in his step, he strode over to the supplies from Zubrovec, ripped a sheet of lined paper out of a notebook, and retrieved a worn fountain pen. Kneeling awkwardly beside a shelf, he laid the sheet atop and penned a letter.

"Your feathery majesty... by the time you read this, we'll be long gone... promise not to betray you..." Oh dear, he was talking to himself. Loneliness was a scary thing. "And, should you wish, we'll be happy to help out again... Send reply through village elder... Love, Harry."

Drawing back, he tapped the pen against his lips. After a minute's hesitation, he scribbled a P.S. requesting to someday see his daughters. When he lifted the nib and considered the letter, the word jumped out at him from the page. Daughters... Would they want anything to do with him at all?

There was a weird squeeze in his chest. Huh. He would have to drop by St. Mungo's and get that checked out.

Rising to his feet, he swiped the letter off the shelf and walked over to his rock carving, which was originally meant to depict a harpy in flight, but now resembled a piece of highly conceptual art. Drawing his wand, he affixed the letter below the carving, and resisting the urge to go over it once more, turned away.

He swept his residence thoroughly to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything, then sat cross-legged before the fire and savored the last of his tea to pass the time until the afternoon. His gaze kept straying to the sky outside, the sun climbing toward its zenith too slowly for his liking, until he could no longer resist his mounting excitement and sprang to his feet.

Opening the bars, he stepped onto the ledge and inhaled the fresh air. His refurbished Firebolt materialized in his extended hand, and he was about to mount it before contemplating the expanse stretching out ahead and the sheer drop below.

"I'll show you wingless," he muttered.

Gripping his broom with both hands, he went back into the cave, took a few deep breaths, and bolted forward. The patch of the sky ahead grew rapidly as his feet kicked against fur, then hard stone, then _nothing;_ his stomach did a somersault as he plummeted, going into a spin, rocky slope alternating with azure sky. Panic flooded him, but drawing strength from the familiar smoothness of his broomstick, he yanked it upward at just the right moment.

He whooped, leveling out of the freefall, the Firebolt handling like new. "I'm the king of the skies!"

Breathing heavily, he looked around, took out his wand for a hasty Disillusionment Charm, then set off around the enormous mountain in search of a cave on the opposite side that Lenka told him about.

As expected, there wasn't much traffic in the skies this time of the day: he only saw a lone harpy ascending from the forest below before he came across a triangular crevice in the mountain face. Flying closer, he caught a whiff of smoke, and sure enough, after squeezing inside and unlocking a barred door, he found Tony.

Landing softly on a carpet—not a beast pelt, but an honest-to-god shag rug—he gawked around. Tony's cave was that in name only: blue-and-bronze tapestries covered the walls, the fireplace was set into the rock, and the owner himself sat in a wing chair, sipping from a china cup with a serene expression. As Harry beheld the luxurious bed that dominated one corner, he was glad Tony wouldn't see his much poorer dwelling.

Canceling his camouflage, he grinned and cleared his throat. "Hey, mate. Miss me?"

Turning languidly to him, Tony lowered his cup. "Ah. I was wondering when you'd show up."

"Well, here I am," he said, taken aback by how utterly _mellow_ the bloke was. "So, how's it hanging?"

Tony scratched his scruffy beard, which in Harry's opinion looked rather ridiculous. "Can't complain. They did snap my wand, but I'm mostly over it."

He grimaced. "_Ouch_. I got pretty bruised myself—"

"Not _that_." Tony took a sip from the cup, then adjusted his crotch with a pensive expression. "Well, that too, but I meant they literally broke my wand in half. It's your fault, by the way."

"_My_ fault?" He crossed his arms. "This should be good."

"Your Patronus happened to float in when I was showing off my Transfiguration to the ladies and went all tentacle monster on them. As I was the only bloke with a wand in sight, they thought it was my doing, and..." Looking almost cheerful, he mimed breaking a stick. "_Crunch_, just like that."

"Couldn't you have fought—never mind, stupid question." He raked his fingers through his hair. "Look, man, I'm really sorry—"

"It's alright," Tony said, nodding graciously.

His eyebrows rose. "You seem awfully... accepting."

"Oh, I _was_ miffed at first, but thinking about the big picture helped me put things into perspective." Setting the cup down, he clasped his hands. "We are the first wizards in centuries to reconnect with Beings thought lost to the world, and leave to tell the tale. A wand or two is nothing in comparison."

"Speaking of, we better get a move on before they wake up from their beauty sleep and find me gone," Harry said, latching onto Tony's only sensible words. Recalling what Lenka had said, he eyed him warily. "Er, you aren't going to resist or anything, are you?"

"Of course not," Tony said with zen-like equanimity. "All good things come to an end."

He straddled his Firebolt. "Mount up then, oh mountain guru."

Harry waited until Tony's weight settled behind him, then maneuvered out of the narrow cave. Rising into the open skies, he grinned as a breeze hit his face.

"How's freedom taste?" he asked, voice raised against the wind. "Another day and we'll be home."

"Yeah." Tony was shaking slightly. "Yeah, I can't wait."

Furrowing his brows, Harry glanced over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just... funny. A letter managed to reach me a couple weeks ago, can you believe it? Poor owl was missing half its feathers." Tony laughed unsteadily. "They practically begged me to stay away from the Ministry until I got better. Spattergroit's scarier than I thought."

"That's great, isn't it? You get to keep your job."

"Yeah." Tony snorted, the hand he had around Harry's waist balled into a bloodless fist. "TSP reports, here I come."

He frowned, but chalked up Tony's behavior to nerves; they _were_ dizzyingly high up, and in broad daylight to boot. Getting his bearings, he turned west, skirting the mountain to their right. As its looming bulk blocked the wind, muffled sobs reached his ears. Being a compassionate person, he approached the issue with discretion and tact.

"Merlin's balls, man, are you _crying_?"

"Pfft, _no_." As Harry began turning to look over his shoulder, Tony sniffled loudly. "K-kinda."

He brought the Firebolt to a halt, hovering above the alpine landscape. "Weren't you alright with leaving?"

"It's not the leaving that gets me," Tony said, his voice cracking. "See, at first, living with the harpies was a dream come true, but then I began to realize none of them cared about me... at least, not the way I did about them. Anyone with a working pecker would've sufficed." There was a sound of a nose being blown.

"Didn't take you for such a bloody romantic," Harry said, trying not to think about the entreating tone of his letter. He racked his brain for a way to cheer the crybaby up. "Oi, how about I get you a new wand?"

Tony chuckled through his tears. "No offense, but having another bloke buy me a wand would just be weird."

"That's not what I had in mind. How's a core from the harpy queen herself sound?" Extending his hand over his shoulder, he materialized a long, gleaming-white feather. "I intended to keep it as a souvenir, but your need is greater."

Tony gasped as he picked it up. "Where did you get this?"

"The queen enjoyed having her wings stroked, and..." He coughed delicately. "I went about it a little too enthusiastically."

"You brute."

He scratched his chest where the talon marks had since faded. "She made her displeasure known _very_ vocally, I assure you."

Tony laughed, pressing the feather back into his palm. "Thanks, mate—really. Keep it fresh for me until we can get it to Ollivander's, alright?"

"Sure thing." Harry took one last wistful look at the harpy eyrie, then set course for the invisible barrier. "Buckle up, it'll be a bumpy ride."


	7. Hangover, Part 1

Trumpeting snores wrenched Harry from his slumber. He pried his crusty eyes open only to whimper and squinch them shut. The world was a blur. A bright, _painful_ blur. He stayed still for a minute, wincing at the pounding in his skull, then braced himself and rose to a sitting position, swaying slightly.

Cracking his eyelids open, he breathed easier when he recognized the dark-green basilisk leather underneath him. He squinted around until he located his glasses and made a grab at them. To his bewilderment, they remained perched atop the arm of the couch as though taunting him.

After several fruitless attempts and an odd feeling of missing something, he switched to his left hand and finally slipped the glasses on. The drawing-room of Grimmauld Place swam into focus. It was a horrid mess, but that wasn't out of the ordinary for a house under the tender care of two bachelors.

Identifying the source of the thunderous snores, he trudged up to an armchair Tony was passed out on. He plucked a nearly empty bottle out of his hands and contemplated it blearily.

"What kind of light wizard drinks dark beer?" he murmured, setting it on the coffee table. "Oi, wake up." He stooped to shake Tony's shoulder, nearly losing his balance in the process.

Tony opened his eyes, then closed them with a hiss. "Hu-Harry?"

He straightened up, wrinkling his nose. "Wakey-wakey, ass-breath."

Tony rubbed the rheum out of his eyes, raised his arms, then froze mid-stretch. "Mate," he said, his eyes widening, "your arm's missing."

Harry snorted. "How out of it can you be?" Lifting his hands, he wiggled his fingers. "See? I'm—_holy fuck_."

His right arm... wasn't there. He clasped his floppy sleeve, yanked it up. _It wasn't there._

Tony got up from the armchair with a groan. "What the hell happened?"

"Shit, no, tell me this isn't happening." He began to hyperventilate as he twisted to stare at the... the stump. Ending shortly below his shoulder, it was covered in healthy skin as though it had been that way for years. "Did I splinch? I can't remember anything! _Where's my fucking arm_?"

Tony tore through the room, throwing up couch cushions, kicking over armchairs, and peeking into an ugly vase one of Sirius's paramours had gifted him. "It's not here!"

Wrenching his gaze away from his maimed limb, he clicked his tongue. "Summoning Charm, quick!"

"Right." Pale-faced, Tony patted himself down for his wand. "Accio Harry's arm!"

He pivoted around, half expecting to see a limb zooming through the air, then slapped his forehead. "Strength in specifics!"

"Oh yeah—Accio Harry's _right_ arm!"

They both held their breath for a few seconds, their heads swiveling about, before Harry exhaled loudly and collapsed on the couch. Tears stung his eyes.

"I'm a cripple." He wiped his eyes with his palm. His _only_ palm. "I'm a bloody cripple."

Sitting down beside him, Tony patted his shoulder. "Er... hang in there. It might look bad now, but try to, you know, look for the silver lining."

Harry lowered his palm to fix him with a watery glare. "What bloody silver lining?"

Tony furrowed his brows before perking up. "I heard Muggles make these cool bionic arms. Bet jacking off with one would feel like getting a handjob."

Whirling on Tony, he lobbed an impotent punch at his shoulder. "What the hell, man? I lost a limb and _that's_ what you have to say?" He reached into his malletspace for his wand and froze.

Tony raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Cool off. It hasn't sunk in yet, alright? We don't even know what happened."

"I found it," he breathed, regarding the cleanly severed limb in his mind's eye.

Tony blinked. "Found what?"

"I found it, I fucking found it! I've had it inside me all along!" Leaping to his feet, he pumped his arm. His head spun from the sudden motion, and dropping back onto the couch, he dissolved into hysterical laughter.

"For real?" Receiving a jerky nod, Tony sighed in relief. "Damn, don't scare me like that. If that's all the excitement for now, I really need to piss."

Waving him off, Harry tried to calm his racing heart and order his thoughts. Last he recalled, he had gone on a pub crawl with Tony and Cedric to celebrate the latter's Quidditch victory. Then they ran into Draco Malfoy... who ended up joining them.

Huh. Rack his brain as he might, the circumstances of that inconceivable event eluded him. As did everything afterward, for that matter.

He rubbed his forehead. Locating his missing drinking pals—if Malfoy could be called one—would be the fastest way to get answers. Since Sirius was off chasing some veela cheerleader around the continent, there would be no help from that quarter. Typical.

Rising gingerly, he set out to search the house. As his dizziness lessened, his steps grew more assured, and he even began whistling as he traipsed up the stairs, giddy with relief.

Peeking into his bedroom without much expectation, he froze at the sight of Malfoy snuggling his favorite seven-meter body pillow on the floor. He stomped inside, having half a mind to kick the filthy philanderer in the balls, but couldn't resist laughing at the dopey expression on his face.

With an awkward left-hand wave of his wand, he summoned a camera. A refreshed Tony rejoined him as he fumbled with the gadget; it was of wizarding make, and thus unnecessarily fiddly.

"What's up?" Tony glanced through the ajar door, did a double take, and laughed. "Who would've thought—drunk Malfoy has the same tastes as you."

Harry thrust the camera at him. "Here, you do it. I'm owling the pictures to his wife."

Snickering, Tony manipulated the knobs and levers to snap photos from various angles. The instant he was finished, Harry strode over to the sleeping beauty and kicked him in the ribs.

"Get up, ponce."

"Bwuh?" Malfoy opened his eyes, took in the half-naked lamia in his embrace, and recoiled. "Aargh!"

"Some nerve you have, sleeping with another man's waifu in his own bedroom," Harry said sternly.

Malfoy gathered himself into a sitting posture and squinted at him. "_Potter_? What happened to your arm?" He grimaced. "More importantly, what happened to my head?"

He sighed. "I was hoping you'd tell me. Let's find Cedric."

Leaving Tony to bring Malfoy up to speed, he nipped to the bathroom, then commandeered their assistance to scour the house top to bottom. Unenthused from the start, Malfoy only got more vocal with each floor they failed to discover their last comrade on until Harry capitulated. They trooped down to the kitchen, where Malfoy made a beeline for the sink.

"It's a waste of time," he said, pouring himself a glass of water. "Diggory must've gone home last night."

Harry groaned. "Then we'll have to drop by. God, I hope Cho won't be there."

"Let me try something first," Tony said, drawing his wand. "Accio Cedric's robes!"

There was a muffled crash above, followed by a steadily loudening clatter. Exchanging wide-eyed looks, they rushed out of the kitchen just in time to see a ball of tangled limbs tumble down the staircase. Malfoy drew back with a yelp, Tony performed a complicated twirl that didn't seem to do anything, while Harry snapped of a Cushioning Charm. Unfortunately, his aim was off, and Cedric crumpled on the tiles before them, unmoving.

Malfoy was the first to break the ensuing silence. "Well done, Goldstein, you killed him."

"He should be fine," Tony said in a high-pitched voice. "This is nothing compared to Bludger collisions."

"Er... you alive, mate?" Harry asked, not daring to touch him lest he leave evidence on a corpse.

Cedric twitched, then moaned. "My... everything hurts." He lifted his head to peer at them, then began sorting out his limbs. "Feels like I fell down the stairs."

Harry laughed while Tony pocketed his wand and cleared his throat. "Must've been a bad dream. You're just hungover."

Cedric got up, clutching his head. "That's right... We went out drinking, and—blimey, Harry, where's your arm?"

"Not you too," he grumbled. "Have we all been Obliviated? None of us can remember anything."

"I hate to tell you this, but copious amounts of alcohol will do that to a bloke." Cedric probed the fresh bruise on his forehead and winced. "Take it from me, Obliviation isn't so much a hole in your memory as a... patch. The mind tends to fill in the gaps."

Harry looked at him indignantly. "I _never _get blackout drunk. Not since the accident."

"If you say so."

Scowling, he opened his mouth, but Tony clapped him on the back and said, "Now now, there's no need to get up in arms about this."

Harry shot him a disbelieving look, but his lips twitched. "True. But I'd give my right arm to find out what happened." He wiggled his stump for emphasis.

"How can you two joke about this?" Cedric asked, looking nauseated. "He's lost a limb!"

Harry chuckled. "Not for long if I can help it. Wash up and meet us at the Floo—we're going to St. Mungo's."

"Wouldn't want this to get out of hand," Tony quipped.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Harry applied his immense intellect to one-upping him. "What disarming wit."

"Er..." Tony tapped his chin. "Don't make me strong-arm—"

"Merlin's beard, you two are like children," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "Can we please get a move on? I could use a potion for my headache."

Harry sent Tony a look that promised it wasn't over before leading the way to the ground floor. The muddy footprints in the foyer would've sent old Filch into hysterics. Gasping, Malfoy overtook him and brandished his wand over dirt-encrusted robes that lay in a heap by the front door.

"Ugh, I can't appear in public like this! I'm handing these over to my house-elves as soon as I get home."

Harry contemplated the less-than-stellar condition of his own outfit, decided that changing one-armed would be a pain, and grabbed a traveling cloak from the closet, draping it over his shoulders to hide the worst of the stains. He brushed conifer needles and other detritus off his front. Hell, what _had_ they gotten up to last night?

"Nice cloak, Potter," Malfoy remarked, breaking his train of thought. Despite his whinging, his burgundy robes were now immaculate, although the effect was ruined by his puffy face and bloodshot eyes. "Gladrags latest, right? I have to admit, you've acquired a measure of taste."

Harry fingered the fabric appreciatively. "It _is_ pretty nice, isn't it?"

"Oh, get a room," Tony said, hovering behind.

Malfoy sniffed. "Plebeians."

* * *

To the elderly Mediwitch's credit, she didn't bat an eye when Harry said he needed an arm reattached, and only raised a graying eyebrow when he produced the severed limb out of thin air. Ten minutes later, his arm was spelled back on and immobilized in a sling, which would stay on for a week. Accepting an assortment of potions he was to take, Harry thanked her profusely and left with a spring in his step.

Ducking around a chap clutching a bloody ear in his palm, he descended into the reception area and found the others already waiting for him in a corner, looking markedly more chipper.

"Welcome back to the ranks of the two-armed," Tony said, proffering a vial.

Harry accepted the potion with a grateful nod and chugged down, instantly starting to feel human again.

"Blimey, you weren't kidding about getting it back," Cedric said, smiling. The fading bruise on his forehead shone with a layer of ointment. "You'll have to tell me the whole story someday, but I really ought to go. My wife must be beside herself with worry."

"Send her a note," Harry said. "You're not going anywhere till we figure out who Obliviated us."

"No one did, Potter," Malfoy said. "While you performed whichever Dark ritual that's capable of regrowing a limb in a matter of minutes, Mr. Quidditch Celebrity got a specialist to give us a quick check-up. It's highly unlikely we had any Memory Charms cast on us."

"Unlikely," Harry said. "But not impossible?"

Malfoy sounded almost bored as he replied. "You'd have to hire a Legilimens to know for certain, but even if you do, I'm not letting them poke around in _my_ head."

Harry frowned. "Fair enough. In that case, we're going back to Grimmauld to search for clues."

Cedric's protests fell on deaf ears as Harry dragged him into the Floo with one hand, the others squeezing in after them. He spoke the destination, and they were propelled across the network of grates until being spat out into the pigpen of a drawing-room.

Harry led by example, sorting through empty bottles, snack bags, and greasy plates. Tony and Cedric exchanged a look before halfheartedly imitating him, while Malfoy promptly appropriated the cleanest armchair. Harry managed to ignore him until he started humming and twirling his wand idly.

"Are you helping or what?"

"If I must," Malfoy said. "Dobby!"

A house-elf popped into existence and bowed immediately. "Master Malfoy sir called?"

"Gather all the rubbish and put it on the table over there." Malfoy looked around critically. "Give the place some elbow grease while you're at it—it's disgraceful to see an ancestral home in this state."

"Right away, Master Malfoy!" Dobby zipped off, causing Cedric to dodge with a yelp.

Tony groaned and dumped an armful of rubbish; before it could fall to the floor, it was snatched by Dobby the dervish. "Couldn't you have done this from the start?"

"You didn't ask. I assumed you people enjoyed house-elf work."

"Prick," Tony murmured.

Malfoy sniffed. "I'll pretend not to have heard that. Do recall that I'm graciously lending you my servant."

Harry watched appreciatively as Dobby raised a veritable tornado of grime and dust, snapping his spindly fingers left and right to leave the carpets cleaner than they had been in decades. "Don't suppose he's for sale?"

"Absolutely not." Malfoy drummed his fingers on his knee. "Due to... regrettable circumstances, we were forced to part with one of our servants already. Any more, and they won't be able to keep the manor up to standards."

Dobby's ears whipped forward as he came to a halt. "Anything else needs doing, Master Malfoy?"

Malfoy considered the pile of dirty plates, cutlery, and food scraps on the table. "Might as well search the rest of the house while we sort through this. Oh, and Dobby?"

Dobby bounced on the balls of his tiny feet. "Yes, Master Malfoy?"

"Don't mistake Potter's toys upstairs for trash. He can't help it, having never grown up."

"Harry Potter sir's girl dollies is safe with Dobby, Master Malfoy!" Dobby exclaimed to general laughter. His green eyes met Harry's, and he looked away, fidgeting with the hem of the pillowcase he was wearing.

"How does he know about..." Something tickled at the back of Harry's mind. "Oi, titch, don't I know you from somewhere?"

"That's impossible," Malfoy answered on behalf of the elf, who used the opportunity to scurry out the door. "He doesn't leave the manor, and you and I aren't exactly on visiting terms."

"Odd... I reckon I've seen him before. Even the name sounds familiar."

"Don't be daft," Malfoy said exasperatedly. "They all look the same, and they're all named Nobby and Wonky and stupid things like that. If this is some weird attempt to swindle me out of my best servant, it's not working."

"But I could've sworn..." Harry sighed as Dobby popped in to deposit several half-empty bottles onto the table; the titch did look exactly like those working at Hogwarts. "Guess you're right."

Putting the matter out of his mind, he swept his gaze over the rubbish heaped atop the coffee table. He plucked a potato chip off a greasy plate, inspected it briefly, and popped it into his mouth. Malfoy shuddered theatrically.

Harry made a thoughtful noise. "Okay, so we definitely went to the Leaky Cauldron—I'd recognize Tom's grub anywhere. We could go ask if he remembers us acting odd."

Tony turned over a bottle of cheap Muggle beer in his hands. "Must've dropped by a supermarket too."

Harry spared it a glance. "Nah, that's from our icebox. Sirius is partial to that swill."

Cedric was quiet, gazing at the table morosely as if weighed down by the reminder of yesterday's sins. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he leaned forward to yank a green bottle out of the pile. "Still think we didn't just get plastered and black out, Harry?"

"For the last time, _yes_. I always end up Apparating everyone else home—"

"Take a look." Cedric turned the bottle so the label faced him.

"Abe's Abyssal Absinthe," Harry read, his heart sinking. "Wasn't that categorized as Class D Non-Tradeable?"

"Precisely," Cedric said, grim-faced. "For causing hallucinations and temporary insanity."

"Where did _that_ come from? It's not something you can buy in a corner shop**.**" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy twitch and sink into the armchair. "Anything you want to tell us, Malfoy?"

"I might've... borrowed a bottle from Perkins at the Department of Intoxicating Substances after they confiscated a cache last year." He squirmed under their glares. "It was under lock in my cellar! I don't remember bringing it here."

Cedric sighed and slouched on the couch. "Mystery's solved, then. Can I go home now?"

"It does explain the memory loss," Harry said. "But I still want to know what we got up to afterwards."

"We probably made lots of noise and puked in some back alley," Tony said. "No big deal."

"And my arm just fell off," Harry deadpanned. "Fuck you it's a big deal."

Cedric gave him an incredulous look. "You were making puns about it half an hour ago." He turned to Draco. "What about you, Malfoy? Isn't your wife waiting for you?"

"Oh, don't mind me—this is far too entertaining to miss." His expression turned serious. "Besides, I need to know if I did something that would reflect badly on our family name."

Cedric threw his arms up. "Fine, you win. I'll Floo Cho a note and we can go on a bloody treasure hunt. She was going to murder me anyway."

Harry coughed. "_Henpecked_." Ced was such a chump for getting married straight out of Hogwarts.

"Leaky first, then?" Tony asked, sounding excited. "I could go for Tom's lunch special."

"I could ask Astoria if she saw me come in last night," Malfoy said, obviously not enthused by the idea.

"No," Harry said, patting himself down absently, "no, it's what happened _after_ we came back here with the absinthe that's important." His head swiveled toward the door. "Malfoy, I hope your elf didn't get to cleaning the foyer."

* * *

"This is pointless," Malfoy said as their party tread the path to Hogwarts castle. "Don't get me wrong, Potter, when you said you had an idea, I didn't expect much in the first place. It's just that it turned out even more dim-witted than I thought."

"Shush, Malfoy," Tony said. "Harry's playing detective."

"You pricks wouldn't be speaking to me this way if my wand arm wasn't in a sling," Harry said. "Whatever, you'll understand my brilliance soon enough."

They walked up to the enormous front doors, where Neville was already waiting courtesy of Tony's Patronus message. Little remained of the pudgy boy from their Hogwarts years; the Herbology professor stood tall and wide in the shoulders, and had an air of self-assurance about him.

"Alright, Neville?" Harry said. "Sorry I can't shake your hand."

"Hullo, Harry." Neville eyed the sling. "Doing better than you, it seems—what happened?"

"Just a flesh wound, never mind that now. Brought some company." He jerked his chin at the others.

"Good to see you, Anthony, Cedric—_Malfoy_." Neville failed to hide his surprise but shook everyone's hand without further comment. "What brings you all here?"

"Herbological emergency." Reaching into his pocket, Harry withdrew a clump of twigs, conifer needles, and leaves he had picked off their clothes and the muddy floor. "Could you identify these? Might've squished them a little on the way, sorry." Squatting down, he spread the spoils atop a flagstone.

Neville crouched for a better look. "Well, this one is definitely meadow foxtail."

"Cool," Harry said, leaning in. "Where does it grow?"

"Er, sort of everywhere, really," Neville said. "It's a common grass."

"Oh." He drew back and tried to ignore Tony's and Malfoy's snickers with dignity. "Is there anything uncommon or magical here?"

Neville bent forward to sift through the plant bits, gradually separating them into neat piles. Harry's tension mounted with each little twig and leaf scrutinized until Neville finally drew up and rubbed his forehead with the back of his palm.

"Not sure if this is the answer you were hoping for, but I don't see anything particularly rare."

"Ah... alright, then." Harry gnawed on his lip in frustration. "Thanks anyway, Neville."

"I'm shocked, I tell you," Malfoy said.

Shooting him a dirty look, Harry sighed. What now?

"Oh—wait, don't move." Neville pinched something off the back of Harry's palm and held it up. It was a tiny compound leaf, or perhaps a fragment of one, covered with mucous hairs. Rubbing it between calloused fingertips, Neville lifted it to his nose for a sniff. "Best I can tell, this is Gobian Gutwort. It's native to Mongolia, but headmistress Phyllida Spore brought it to the Forbidden Forest back in the fifteenth century."

Grinning, Harry turned to Malfoy. "Ha! Who's laughing now?"

"I'm not sure what you're so happy about," Malfoy said. "We just found out that after getting_—plastered_, I believe was the term—we decided to take a stroll through Britain's most dangerous forest."

"Eh, we made it out intact." He scratched his immobilized arm. "Or at least you guys did."

Tony shrugged. "Might as well investigate."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Cedric said. "What if the thing that took Harry's arm is still lurking there?"

"Then I'll do my best to return the favor," Harry said with a grin. "But I wonder why we went there in the first place. We must've had some pressing reason."

Malfoy frowned. "I hate to say this, but Potter has a point. Whatever took place last night, I want to know it."

Cedric glumly regarded the green treetops swaying in the distance. "Bugger."

"Sounds like you folks made up your minds." Neville stood and dusted his palms off. "Let me grab my coat. It's quite a walk, and evenings get pretty cold around here."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "You're coming with us?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "I don't think you realize how large the forest is. How confident are you about finding the spot Gutwort grows on your own?"

"Point taken."

They hovered by the doors and speculated on what could have possessed them to go to the Forbidden Forest until Neville returned having thrown a cloak over his robes. With him in the lead, they walked down the castle grounds.

"McGonagall was talking about you," Neville told Harry. "Are you going to drop by soon?"

"Sure. This Saturday, maybe." His arm would hopefully heal by then.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Still visiting our alma mater, Potter?"

"Occasionally," he answered without turning his head.

Neville chuckled. "The headmistress always brings out her best tea service. I reckon she still harbors hope of recruiting Harry for the position of the Defense professor. As competent as Blakely is, he's no Harry Potter."

He shuddered. "Teaching snotty brats who can barely tell the right end of their wands. God have mercy."

"Channeling Snape there, mate," Tony quipped.

"I very much doubt old McGonagall's tea is worth the journey," Malfoy said. "What is it you're after, Potter? A scandalous tryst with a student, perhaps?"

"I could swear under Veritaserum that the average age of the women I'm meeting at the castle is north of five centuries." He chuckled at Malfoy's confusion. "I'm not a cradle robber like you. How's Astoria, by the way?"

Though still looking puzzled, Malfoy quickly recovered and stuck his nose up. "My _wife _is well, thank you for asking."

"If not a student, maybe a professor?" Cedric suggested with a laugh.

"Neville's the only one around my age, and no offense mate, but you're not my type." Harry smiled to himself. "No, I just miss Hogwarts."

Tony snorted, earning a warning look from Harry.

Cedric glanced back at the castle. "I can see what you mean. It does feel nostalgic to come back here."

"Well, you're always welcome," Neville said. "But I've been meaning to ask... There have been complaints about vulgar scribbles on house bulletin boards coinciding with your visits, Harry. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Harry struggled to keep a straight face. "Nope."

"Every house except Ravenclaw."

"Coincidence." He punched Tony, who was shaking with stifled laughter, in the shoulder. "Do you seriously think I'd spend hours staking out the entrances to the common rooms just for some petty amusement?"

Neville shook his head. "You're right, that would be ridiculous. Sorry for asking."

Tony's laughter finally broke through. "You've got no clue how Harry really is, do you?" he choked out. "Let me tell you about his epic feud with a cat..."

Tony regaled Neville with his slanderous tales as they crossed the grounds and entered the forest proper. The temperature fell noticeably under the shade of the trees. Their boisterous group quieted. Whether it was because they had been warned off the Forbidden Forest for years, or because its atmosphere was innately foreboding, it didn't feel like a place to be taken lightly.

Past the sparser outskirts of the forest, the winding path they were filing down all but disappeared, and what started out as a pleasant hike became a wearying slog. The earth was mushy from the summer rains, and in the dips of the path, the mud wouldn't let go of their shoes without a fight. Even Malfoy stopped whinging and saved his breath for ambulation. Neville was the only one who displayed no signs of fatigue, whistling a tune as he led them deeper into the woods.

Tony spoke up, his eyes darting around. "Um, I should've asked earlier, but we're not going near centaur territory, are we?"

"The opposite direction, actually," Neville said over his shoulder.

Tony exhaled. "That's a relief."

Neville glanced at him curiously. "How come? This would go much faster if there were centaur trails around here. The tribe knows me, so they wouldn't mind."

"Problem is, they know us too," Harry said with a sheepish grin. "Kicked our asses back in seventh year, and I don't mean it as a figure of speech. The hoof marks didn't fade for days."

"Weeks, more like," Tony said. "I was too mortified to ask Pomfrey for more butt ointment."

Neville paused and gaped at them. "What did you do?"

"Oh man, where to start." Harry rested his back against a nearby birch. "One day, Hagrid mentioned running into their hunting party, which got us thinking that it would be a terrible waste of our Hogwarts years if we never saw a live centaur. So we wheedled out the location of their camp, nicked some carrots from the kitchens, and set off."

"Why carrots?" Cedric asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Duh. Centaurs _love_ carrots."

"Common knowledge, that," Tony seconded.

"Did either of you even take Care for Magical Creatures?" Receiving two blank looks, Cedric pinched the bridge of his nose and motioned them to go on.

Harry continued, "We stumbled upon their camp while all the men were out hunting. So we showed the kids some magic, chatted with the women, shared the carrots. When the men returned, they, uh, took exception to our presence. Something about their customs." He shuddered. "Picture a herd of furious, hulking, and stark-naked half-horse, half-men charging at you."

Neville appeared fascinated. "No one's seen a female centaur in decades. What were they like?"

He gazed off into space with a mild smile. "_Very_ well-endowed, and hairy all over. You haven't seen bushy armpits until you've seen a centauress."

"Still, a sight worth getting hoofed in the butt for," Tony said, eliciting a nod from Harry.

Malfoy made a face. "You two are degenerates."

Harry straightened up. "And you're a speciesist. Let's get a move on."

Shaking his head, Neville led onward. While taking a breather helped, the forest was getting denser with every step, and bypassing clumps of impenetrable underbrush slowed them further. When they emerged in a small glade, Neville paused to get his bearings while Harry hunched with his hand on a knee to catch his breath.

"How much farther?" Tony asked.

Neville hemmed and hawed. "At this speed, maybe half an hour."

Cedric groaned. "If it was this far, we should've flown."

"What the man said," Malfoy concurred, spelling sticker burrs off his trousers.

"There are no landmarks where we're going, and I wouldn't be able to make out the plants from the air." Neville shrugged sheepishly. "Not to mention, I'm not much of a flier."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Stop complaining, you two. At least you don't have to walk around with your arm in a sling."

"You never told me what happened," Neville said, ducking down to pluck some purplish berry and eat it.

"That's what we're here to find out. The Mediwitch said it was shorn off by something extraordinarily sharp. Not a curse, mind you, or she might not have been able to reattach it."

"Shorn clean off?" Drawing up, Neville looked around warily. "That doesn't sound like any beast from this forest."

He shrugged. "For all we know, it might've happened afterward. We sort of blacked out on booze last night."

"Ah," Neville said delicately, "not something I have much experience with."

"You could come drinking with us sometime," Tony suggested.

Neville glanced at Harry's suspended arm. "I'll pass."

"This is an exception rather than the rule," Harry said defensively. "And I'm still not ruling out Obliviation."

"If you were Obliviated, you wouldn't _think_ you were Obliviated," Cedric said, a little irritably.

"Or maybe I would. _I_ know Occlumency, unlike some."

Cedric scowled at him. "That's a low blow. You can't blame me because they got to me while—"

"Shut your gobs," said a little boy's voice.

Everyone flinched, then pivoted about the clearing. Cedric homed in on a gnarled yew, a dark hollow gaping in its trunk, and edged closer.

"Whatcha starin' at?" said the voice. "Lanky streak of piss."

Cedric jerked away. Harry goggled as an oversized ferret scrabbled out of the hollow and down the trunk. Glancing over his shoulder, he confirmed that Malfoy was still very much human.

The creature's beady eyes peered up at Cedric. "Didn't know they stacked shit that high!"

Harry choked out an incredulous laugh, then materialized the jar of Dittany he had gotten at St. Mungo's and proffered it to Cedric. "Need some salve for that burn?"

Cedric rolled his eyes. "You're a regular comedian." He took a few steps back, pointedly not looking at the ferret-thing.

The ferret scurried to the rest of the group and rose on its hind legs to scrutinize them. "Behold, a troupe of wankery," it squeaked. "Gormless poxy-faced porker, limp-wristed snoot, ratty half-goblin midget, and four-eyes with troll pubes on his head!"

Harry snickered until his brain parsed the entire string of insults. His hand rose to his hair.

"That hit a nerve, you specky muppet?" the creature said. "Empty-skulled, sewer-breathed yob."

"Oi, watch your bloody mouth!" He stomped his foot threateningly.

Puffing up its tail, the ferret scuttled aside. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Dingleberry-sniffing salad tosser."

"Potter, it's only a Jarvey." Malfoy sounded torn between amusement and exasperation. "Ignore it and it'll go away. You don't get mad at an owl for hooting, do you?"

He nodded slowly. "I do, actually, but I see your—"

"Chronic wand-polisher," the Jarvey said, it's glinting eyes focused on Harry. "Kiss my hairy arse."

Tony guffawed. "Can we adopt it?"

"Right, I don't care _what_ it is," Harry snapped, striding toward the infernal beastie. "No one speaks to me that way and gets away with it!"

With a whisk of its bushy tail, the Jarvey scampered into the trees, squeaking imprecations that were lost amid Malfoy's yells to stop and Tony's uproarious laughter. Harry lunged after it, awkwardly swatting branches out of his way and cursing his sling. Catching up, he kicked at the critter, but it scurried underneath a knotted root, and he nearly lost his balance when his foot rebounded off it.

Emerging on the other side, the Jarvey turned its whiskered muzzle. "Googly-eyed twat."

He growled. "Why you little..."

"Wait up!" Neville cried, bumping into his back.

Heedless, Harry leapt over the root and resumed the chase. When the Jarvey darted into untrodden brush, he barreled through, no longer bothering to shield himself from the twigs whipping his face. His wand materialized in his palm as he waited for a clear shot.

He was losing his wind, but the Jarvey remained tauntingly close, egging him on whenever it had a chance. Noticing the shrubs grow sparser, he gave a final push and soon emerged in a clearing. He jabbed his wand at the furry little shit with a triumphant cry.

The Jarvey zigzagged across the leaf-strewn ground as Harry's hexes kicked up gouts of dirt, landing ever closer. Just as he was about to nail it, someone yanked him by the collar, and his curse instead clipped a tree.

"Enough already!" Neville yelled, his face red.

Twisting out of his grip, Harry scanned the clearing. There was no movement save for the gentle sway of the leaves. "_Come on_! I almost had the little bugger!"

"Merlin's beard, but you're an idiot," Malfoy panted, emerging from the thicket behind with Tony and Cedric in tow. Staring somewhere ahead, he stiffened. "Quick, hold Potter back."

"Why?" Tony asked.

Malfoy didn't face him as he spoke. "Because the Jarvey's up there, and I'm not about to chase him again."

Harry whirled in the direction Malfoy was looking at even as several hands grabbed his robes. The beastie was perched high up in a tree and staring down at them, its muzzle curled in a sneer.

"Now you're buggered, wankers," it said before hopping away along the branches like an overgrown squirrel.

Harry struggled for appearances' sake before relaxing. "I'll get it next time."

Snorting, Cedric slapped his back. "Knock yourself out, so long as you don't involve me."

"Seconded," Malfoy said.

Tony chuckled. "Dunno, watching Harry make an ass out of himself never gets old. Your face looks like it met the business end of a broomstick, by the way."

"You heard the bloody thing! I wasn't about to let it talk shit to me." Harry scowled in the direction it had run off. "What do you suppose it meant there at the end?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It's just a dumb animal, and you're even dumber for letting it rile you up. Can we please get back on track?" He glanced at Neville. "We _can_ get back on track, right?"

"Shouldn't a problem," Neville said, eyeing the moss on the tree trunks. "Harry didn't cover much ground."

"Only because I'm injured," he said on principle.

"You _were_ moving fairly quickly despite that," Neville allowed.

Tony snorted. "Don't humor him."

Getting his bearings, Neville set off, confidently weaving through the trees. Silence fell as they saved their breath. The welts on Harry's face stung, but he wasn't about to risk a left-handed healing charm, and his pride wouldn't let him ask for help. Wiping the sweat off his brow with his sleeve, he struggled to keep up.

For better or worse, Neville's pace quickly dropped off, and he began swiveling his head and frowning. After a quarter-hour of hardly any progress, he abruptly stopped and faced them.

"I don't understand... We should've arrived at a stream by now."

"I thought you were supposed to be an expert woodsman, Longbottom," Malfoy drawled. "Are you saying we're lost?"

"Perhaps," Neville said diplomatically. "I'm just not sure how. I gathered fluxweed around here two years ago. The forest can't have changed that much."

Cedric sighed tiredly. "Now what?"

Neville took out his wand and cast the Four-Point Spell. "Let's backtrack a little," he said, peering at the impromptu compass. "Then we'll head east again."

Tension filled the air. Everyone kept glancing at their guide as they walked. Neville ignored any semblance of a trail, going in one direction, doing an about-face, then turning again, the furrows in his brow deepening.

Harry's foot snagged on something, and the forest floor rushed up to meet his face. He thrust his hand out to catch himself, but his sole arm buckled on impact, and he face-planted into soggy moss.

"Bollocks!" Rising to his knees, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Malfoy smirked. "Watch where you're going next time."

Harry habitually tried, and failed, to flip him the bird with his right hand while Cedric and Tony came up to lift him by his armpits. Tony scoured the mud off his front with a muttered _Tergeo_. He nodded gratefully before scowling at the upraised root that had tripped him.

"What the..." Walking up to it, he gave it a good kick. "I swear this wasn't there a second ago!"

Neville stared at him. "You're bound to find tree roots in a forest, Harry. Don't start again, it's not funny anymore."

Great, Neville bloody Longbottom thought he could chastise him. "It must've tripped me on purpose! That's it, I'm burning this fucker down." He drew his wand.

Neville groaned and turned to address Tony. "I'm beginning to see what you meant."

"Incen—_whoa_!" A low-hanging branch swung as if propelled by the wind, knocking the wand out of his hand. He squatted down to pick it up. "You guys see that?"

"See what, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "Stop fooling around."

"No, wait, something's off." Cedric had drawn his wand too and was inching backward. "That elm just got closer to us."

"Nonsense, trees don't—_argh_!"

They turned at the scream to find a tree _crawl _toward Malfoy, its roots creaking as they scrabbled across the ground. And it wasn't just the one: the gaps between the surrounding trunks shrunk rapidly, the canopies joining to blot out the sun. For a moment, Harry wasn't certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

"I'm sure you four can handle... whatever this is," Malfoy said, his eyes wide. "Owl me if you survive." He turned on the spot, only to slip and fall; thick roots broke out of the soil and snaked around his wrists, holding him down.

"Heh, kinky," Harry said, sidling away from a poplar that appeared intent on giving him a hug.

Malfoy struggled furiously, but his efforts were in vain. "Hurry up and free me, nitwit!"

"Diffindo!" A pinkish jet plowed into a patch of moss an inch from Malfoy's neck. "Sorry, left hand."

The color drained from Malfoy's face. "Y-you don't have to help, Potter! Goldstein, Diggory? Oh, hell—_Longbottom_?" His voice grew desperate as more roots coiled around his limbs.

"A little busy," Tony snapped as he transfigured a particularly agile sapling into a coatrack.

Neville bent down and tugged at the roots with a grunt. "Why does it sound like I'm your last resort?"

"Because you set your examiner on fire during Defense practical!" With Neville's help, Malfoy ripped his wand arm free and aimed at his other wrist, but his triumph was cut short when roots twined around his torso and pulled him to the ground.

Abandoning his attempts to help Malfoy, Neville straightened and pointed his wand at the encroaching trees. The four formed a circle with their backs to their downed comrade, their spells whittling down branches and scorching bark. Fire did keep the forest at bay, but the wet wood smoke was making it impossible to breathe, and every smoldering tree retreated to be replaced by two others, pressing inexorably closer.

"Fiendfyre," Harry said, feeling his wand thrum. "It's the only way."

"Can you cast it? Incendio!" A cone of fire burst from Cedric's wand, arresting the trees' advance until he broke into a coughing fit and worked a Bubble-Head Charm.

"You bet." Harry's Cutters made short work of some needled branches, scattering woodchips and filling the air with the smell of sap. "But controlling it with my..."

Malfoy's scream came from below. "Just do it!"

Lips curling into a feral grin, Harry brandished his wand, but another's hand knocked it out of his grasp. As he stared in stunned disbelief, green vines sprang from the moss and snatched it.

He whirled to his left. "What the flying _fuck_, Neville?"

"You were about to burn us to a crisp! Aren't Ravenclaws supposed to have a brain?"

He gripped Neville's lapels with his sole functional hand. "Aren't Gryffindors supposed to have some fucking balls?"

Neville opened his mouth before his eyes widened. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry gasped at the huge tangle of roots surging their way. He stumbled back against Malfoy, eliciting a muffled yell, and the roots struck, binding him before he could fall. His struggles were for naught, and he was quickly wrapped up to his neck. Judging by the screams coming from the right and left of him, the others found themselves in much the same position.

The forest stilled, their yells and curses ringing in the abrupt silence. Then the rustling came again, but only from one direction. Harry craned his neck, the roots grazing his skin. The trees that way creaked and swayed as they parted, forming a gallery. Through the gap between their canopies, the rays of the afternoon sun fell onto a female figure. His breath caught in his throat.

"Neville," he whispered, not taking his gaze away from the vision, "thanks for stopping me."

The woman stood tall and curvaceous, unburdened by clothes and proud in her posture. Her skin was honey-toned, and her waist-length hair vibrant green and interwoven with blossoms. The points of her ears peeked out from her tangled locks. As she stalked toward them, spellbinding in her beauty, flowers sprouted wherever her bare feet touched the ground.

"_Boorish humans! How dare you disturb the peace of the forest?_" Her voice rang in Harry's skull as if reinforced by a charm. "_How dare you desecrate it with your foul magic?_"

Green energy crackled over her hair and gleamed in the irises of her canted eyes. Harry trembled, ducking his head in shame and terror, but as his descending gaze skimmed over her curves, something niggled at the back of his mind. Paralyzing fear wasn't a normal reaction when faced with a sight like _this_, was it? With a shuddering exhalation, he focused on his Occlumency.

"You will perish for your transgressions," she continued, not nearly as terrifying. Her eyes no longer glowed, and her hair appeared almost ordinary save for its color. Harry confirmed that the carpet matched the drapes and grinned widely, causing her gaze to stray his way. "Unless you swear—_bwuh_?" Surprise flashed over her face, and she coughed noisily.

"Want some water?" he asked conversationally. As Tony twisted to give him an incredulous stare, he attempted a shrug. "Just trying to be polite."

Raising a palm, she cleared her throat. "I was merely surprised," she said in a slightly hoarse, but pleasant voice. She peered in Harry's direction. "I can hardly believe my eyes. To think I would meet the great—"

Harry flashed his best smile and inclined his head. "Harry Potter, at your service."

"—Neville of the Longbottoms!" Dashing past Harry without so much as a second glance, she bowed to Neville. "I am _so_ sorry for ensnaring you, O wise druid. May I address you as Sir Neville? I am not very familiar with human customs..."

"That's fine," Neville said dazedly.

The roots around them loosened and began wriggling back into the ground. Harry stooped to retrieve his wand and wiped it on his cloak.

The woman wrung her hands. "I hope you can forgive my rudeness—I never thought someone of your stature would grace me with his presence. It is thanks to you blessing the forest that it is flourishing like it hasn't in a century."

"I only performed some traditional rites..." Blinking, Neville looked her over. "Blimey, you're a _dryad_, aren't you?"

"But of course! D-do I look strange? I assumed my appearance was typical for my kind, but I only have my sister to compare myself to." She blushed and fidgeted under Neville's astonished gaze. "Look at me, I forgot to brush my hair... and I hurried here before taking a dip in the spring, you must think me a fright..."

"Not at all! You're very, um, beautiful." Neville ducked his head sheepishly before his eyes widened and he jerked it back up.

A smile bloomed on the dryad's face, and she bounced in place, which had a very interesting effect on her breasts. "Thank you, Sir Neville. Would you like to come inside? M-my tree, I mean! Oh Hamadryas, I'm babbling..."

Neville's eyes bugged out. "See inside a genuine dryad's tree? I'd love to!"

"Follow me, then!" Giggling happily, she took his hand with both of hers and dragged him toward an ancient oak. The lesser trees crept away to form a clearing around it.

"Now that's a majestic specimen," Neville said, admiring the oak. "Wide canopy, healthy foliage, strong roots..."

The dryad's blush deepened. "You're such a sweet-talker. Come, please!" With a swish of green hair, she dived into the bark, pulling Neville inside.

Harry and Tony exchanged stupefied glances. All was silent save for the soughing of the wind. With the trees back to their normal immobile selves, only the scorches on their trunks and the whiff of smoke in the air reminded of the desperate battle that had taken place minutes before.

"Bet he stamens her pistil," Harry said.

Tony snickered. "Nice."

"Don't you know anything?" Malfoy said darkly. "These creatures will suck you dry—"

"Double nice."

"_Literally _suck you dry and use your corpse as fertilizer," Malfoy finished.

"You sure these aren't tales they tell boys to scare them off wandering into forests?" Harry asked.

"Everyone knows that's what dryads do!" Malfoy looked away. "Having said that... there's been no contact with them for centuries, so it _is_ hearsay."

"Hopefully that's all it is, but what if he never comes out?" Cedric knocked on the oak. "Should we try cutting it open?"

Tony shook his head. "That could hurt them both. And be rather rude, at that."

"I suddenly find Hogwarts education sorely lacking," Harry said, contemplating the tree. "If there was a course on sexy wood nymphs, I'd definitely have paid more attention in class. Anyway, unless you gents have any bright ideas, I guess all we can do is wait."

Malfoy nodded. "Longbottom better have the presence of mind to ask that creature if she saw us bumbling about last night before she sinks her claws into him."

Tony and Cedric plunked down on a fallen log, while Harry slouched against a tree nearby. Malfoy roamed the clearing, giving the oak a wide berth as he inspected the ground with a critical eye. Settling on a drier spot, he conjured a blanket and plopped onto it with a groan.

Tony snorted. "You're acting like you ran a marathon."

"Plodding through a forest does not suit a proper wizard," Malfoy retorted. "More importantly, Potter..."

"Yeah?"

"Were you serious about Fiendfyre? Didn't think you had it in you."

He grinned. "Your lackey Crabbe taught me for a fiver back in our seventh year. Don't look at me that way, Ced, I had it under control."

Malfoy grimaced. "That bloody pyromaniac could never be bothered to learn a spell unless it set things aflame."

"You're aware it's nearly impossible to suppress once released, right?" Cedric said. "You could've killed us all."

"_Psh_, that's just what they tell kids to keep them from learning the really cool spells. It only took me four tries and an acre of grassland." Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "Although, to be fair, I never cast it with my left hand."

"Thank god Neville stopped you," Tony said. "Reckon we owe him life debts?"

As Harry grumbled under his breath about their lack of faith, the discussion turned to life debts. He took an enchanted canteen out of his malletspace and drank his fill, purposely not sharing, but his petty revenge failed when the others just conjured themselves water without asking him to.

After a minute of listening to the debate around him, he felt nature's call and ducked behind the largest tree in the vicinity—which happened to be the oak—to relieve himself. Whistling, he returned only to be met with stony stares.

He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Is that how you solve _all_ your problems?" Cedric asked exasperatedly.

"What are you on about? I just had to take a leak."

"Didn't it occur to you that antagonizing a dryad where she is at her most powerful might be a bad idea? You better hope she didn't notice, or..." Malfoy trailed off as the oak's branches trembled, and springing up from the blanket, he strategically placed himself behind Tony and Cedric.

The dryad stepped out, wrapped in an ethereal green mantle that appeared to be more magic than fabric. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks glowed. She turned and beamed as Neville emerged holding her hand and grinning like a loon.

"I'm alright, guys." Neville adjusted his disheveled robes without success, their buttons done up in the wrong holes. "Sylvia's very, ah, hospitable."

"Sylvia?" Cedric mouthed.

"I see you're wearing a... something now." Harry hoped he hadn't sounded too disappointed.

She fingered the delicate fabric. "Neville said humans might find my—my _beauty _distracting." She gave the man in question an amorous glance. "He also told me of your predicament."

Tony perked up. "Do you know if we came here yesterday?"

Her expression became grave. "I do not. What I do know is that there was an outburst of magic the likes I've never felt, and something utterly foul entered the forest."

A hush fell over the men at the sudden solemnity of her tone. Sylvia approached them in turn, leaning close to peer into their eyes. Tony and Cedric were practically passed over, but she gazed at Malfoy for quite some time, and at Harry for even longer. Her piercing green eyes were impossible to look away from. It wasn't Legilimency, yet it felt as though his very soul was being scrutinized.

"Remnants of a foul taint cling to you," she declared, causing Harry to sniff his sleeve, "yet what your involvement is, I cannot say. Seek its origins and learn what transpired; I don't dare venture there myself." She indicated the direction with her hand. "Cross a brook and leave an oaken grove to your right. Go with confidence, I shan't lead you astray as before."

He glanced at the others, who looked just as bewildered as he felt, before taking it upon himself to answer. "Thank you. Coming, Neville?"

Neville's gaze alternated between him and Sylvia. "I, er..."

She was at Neville's side in an instant. "You will stay for a while longer, won't you, Neville?" Pouting, she pressed her breasts against his arm.

Neville tugged at his collar, blushing. "If you insist. Sorry, guys, this is an, uh, unique educational opportunity—" His words were cut off when Sylvia yanked him into her tree once more.

"Lucky bastard." Harry stared glumly at the oak. If only he'd managed to ask the dryad to introduce him to that sister of hers before she disappeared.

As if in response to his wish, Sylvia's upper body emerged through the bark, and she beckoned him over. He approached, inhaling the scent of the blossoms in her hair and smiling broadly.

"Take this seed." She passed him a fat acorn. "It is imbued with the power of the forest itself. Give it moisture, and it will grow as swiftly as an Occamy out of its cave, devouring everything around for nourishment."

He blinked. "Thanks?"

"I grant you this boon because you are a friend of Neville's," she said in lieu of explanation. "Now, farewell. I mustn't keep him waiting." With a giggle that echoed in the clearing, she shrank back into her tree.

Harry turned the acorn over, shuddered at the morbid image that came to mind—_this_ was closer to what Malfoy had prattled about—and stowed it in his malletspace.

* * *

"This is the weirdest day of my life," Cedric said as they took turns jumping over a burbling brook. "I've reached my quota. Whatever we find in the end will be boring and mundane."

Harry looked at him with pity. "Not even close for me. Also, don't jinx it."

Their progress was less assured without a guide, but the dryad's directions proved accurate so far. After they crossed the brook and skirted an oak grove, the ground started getting drier and hillier. Deciduous trees gradually relinquished their place to conifers, and the smell of sun-warmed sap filled the air.

Exhausted from battling the rugged terrain, they started up the highest hill thus far, puffing (Malfoy) and cursing (Harry) with every labored step. Tony and Cedric climbed to the top first and halted in their tracks. Once Harry caught up and peeked over the crest, he did likewise.

The hill sloped down steeply until it met the border of a vast, shallow crater. Its blackened bowl was devoid of trees—devoid of any greenery—marring the otherwise unspoiled woods like a grotesque scab. Some of the cracks in the scorched ground were still emitting smoke.

Catching up at last, Malfoy did a double take. "What in blazes happened here?"

Harry tore his eyes away from the crater. "Beats me. This ring any bells for you?"

Tony's brows knit. "Not at all, but it's definitely suspicious. Let's take a closer look."

Cedric swallowed. "I have a bad feeling about this. Wands out, do you reckon?"

Harry resisted the urge to make a crude joke. "Good call."

Straining their eyes and ears, they descended toward the crater. Their breaths were loud in the eerie silence that Harry realized only now had been accompanying them for a while. No birdsong, no humming of insects. The scar where his arm was reattached itched, but rather than scratch it, he tightened his grip on his wand. While he still couldn't remember anything, something about this place gave him the creeps.

Skidding down the crumbling slope of the crater, they proceeded warily across the blackened earth. The bowl was almost perfectly circular, with slight grooves extending from its middle toward the edges.

Malfoy sniffed. "Do you smell that?"

"Wasn't me," Harry murmured, wrinkling his nose at the stench of rotten eggs.

"It's brimstone, you nincompoop. Have you paid _any_ attention in Potions?"

"Alright, smartass, so what does that tell us?" He snorted when Malfoy pursed his lips and looked away.

"I don't suppose you decided to practice your Fiendfyre last night?" Cedric asked, his face pale.

Harry scuffed the black ashes with his shoe, then stomped the hardened slag underneath. Something crunched. Squatting down, he dug through the ashes with his wand.

"Looks like chunks of glassed sand. Never seen Fiendfyre do that."

Tony's head whipped toward the hill opposite the one they had come from. "Did you just hear something?"

Everyone fell silent, tracing the trees across the crater with their wands. Harry couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He closed his eyes, tuning out the acrid smell in his nostrils and the stinging of sweat in his scratches.

His breath evened out, then hitched as the stench of sulfur intensified tenfold. The shock of realizing it wasn't his nose he was sensing it with caused his focus to waver, and before he could lose it entirely, he cast his awareness outward. The noxious magic steeping the crater made him gag, but not before he sensed the presences burning bright at its edge.

His eyes flew open to scan the boundary of the trees. A pebble rolled down the ashy slope; the air above it shimmered ever so slightly.

"Disillusionment Charm," he whispered. "Not sure how many..."

Malfoy lifted his wand. "Homenum—"

A gravelly voice echoed over the crater. "Cease your spellcasting and lay down your wands!"

Harry flinched, looking around for the source. A short ways ahead, a large balding man appeared out of thin air holding a wand to his throat. More people in red robes shimmered into view in a semicircle at the crater's border and marched inward with wands extended. Harry was midway through the motion for a shield when he did a double take; those were Auror uniforms.

"Drop your wands! This is your last warning!" the baldie shouted.

Harry hesitated a second too long, and a Disarming Charm coming from his blind spot made the choice for him. Swearing, he watched his wand sail off toward someone's grubby hand.

"It's Gawain Robards himself," Malfoy hissed, having tossed his wand to the ground almost immediately. "Why is he here?"

"Who?" Harry asked blankly.

"The Head Auror, you dolt," Tony said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Keep your hands where we can see them," Robards ordered, approaching. His underlings surrounded them, and two tense wizards ran their wands over their bodies while the others kept them in their sights. Too stunned to protest, Harry held up his left hand and allowed himself to be searched.

"Mr. Robards, it's me, Malfoy," Draco said urgently. "What's going on?"

If the Head Auror appeared taken aback when his stern gaze swept over Malfoy, it was nothing compared to the way he goggled once he recognized Harry.

"Galloping gargoyles, not _Harry Potter_?" As whispers broke out among the Aurors, Robards harrumphed and assumed a stony mask. "As of this moment, you four are under arrest for practicing demonology."


	8. Hangover, Part 2

"My name is Draco Malfoy—I work in International Magical Cooperation," Malfoy said, gripping the thick steel bars of the cell. "Let me speak to my department head."

A potbellied guard in drab brown robes lifted his gaze from a newspaper. "No can do, guv. I'm to keep you here till the bigwigs decide what to do with you."

Harry spoke next. "Never mind him—I'm the bloke who offed Voldemort, _twice_. Do I look like the sort to dabble in demonology?"

The guard's eyes flicked to Harry's forehead. "That's above my paygrade to figure out. Uh, with all due respect, Mr. Potter."

Sighing, Harry sat on a bench bolted to the wall and pondered his recent tendency to end up behind bars. Aside from Malfoy, who was still gripping the bars as if intending to wrench them apart, his companions were already perched on the hard wooden surface and staring sullenly into space.

He glanced at Tony. "Care to give it a try?"

"Huh?"

He jerked his chin toward the guard. "You work in a neighboring department, right? Maybe he'll talk to you."

Tony's cheek twitched. "The gent has no reason to know me, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. It's been over a month since I returned to work, and people are still treating me like a leper."

Malfoy, who was about to seat himself next to Tony, froze. "Were _you _the junior clerk from Administration Services who came down with spattergroit?" Scooting away, he squeezed in at the opposite end of the bench.

Tony sighed. "See what I mean?"

"With a face like yours, it's no wonder," Harry quipped. Turning to address the guard, he waved without rising. "Excuse me, mate. If you aren't going to tell us anything, could we at least get something to eat? I haven't had a bite since last night."

The guard glanced morosely at a clock on his desk. "Hang in there. Someone was supposed to send down food half an hour ago."

"I see the Ministry is still useless where it counts," he remarked, causing the guard to shoot him a dirty look.

"Can you please stop picking fights?" Cedric raked his hand through his limp hair. "This is bad enough as it is."

"Fine." Harry pulled out his canteen, stuck it between his knees to unscrew the cap, and took several long gulps. Seeing everyone's gaze fixate on him, he raised his eyebrows. "Something on my face?"

The guard stood and narrowed his eyes. "Where did you get that?"

"Er... had it in my pocket the entire time," he said. "I like carrying provisions in case I get arrested and starved."

Stepping up to the bars, the guard eyed the canteen. "The Aurors would've confiscated anything dangerous, I s'ppose. Alright, no harm in letting you have a drink."

"Cheers."

Harry passed the canteen to his cellmates, and not for the first time, mentally rummaged in his malletspace for something to eat. Unsurprisingly, more food hadn't spontaneously come into existence; the only remotely edible item was a bag of gag chocolates. Sighing in resignation, he materialized it and ripped it open with his hand and teeth.

"I'm not going to question why a grown man is carrying around sweets if you share," Tony said, extending his hand like the moocher he was.

Tossing a couple of bite-sized chocolates into his mouth, Harry considered the ravenous gazes of his cellmates, and deciding he didn't like his chances of fighting off three men, proffered the bag.

"This is Muggle-made," Malfoy said, eyeing the bag with distaste. "Are you certain it's sanitary?"

"More for me," Tony said, taking a generous palmful.

"Harry," Cedric said, accepting some, "is it just my imagination, or are these shaped like penises?"

Tony brought his palm level with his face and guffawed. "Holy shit. They've got veins and everything."

"Always knew Muggles were off their rockers," Malfoy muttered.

"Not like Cockroach Clusters are a shining example of confectionery," Harry said, crunching on the nuts inside the chocolate with relish.

"Anything you want to tell us?" Tony said. "You know I'll support you no matter what."

Snorting, Harry rested his back against the wall and ate another handful. "These are just leftovers. We have this beautiful tradition, Sirius and I. Every Christmas and Midsummer, the Azkaban wardens allow prisoners to receive parcels. We send a bag of this very special chocolate to every convicted Death Eater along with a note that says 'eat a bag of dicks'." The others' stunned silence tasted more delicious than the creamy goo in his mouth. "And the best part? They do. Savoring every last chocolaty wiener with tears in their eyes."

Malfoy sprang to his feet. "My father would never stoop so low!"

Harry startled a little. "Shit, I forgot your old man was serving time. No hard feelings, eh?"

"You forgot? _Forgot_?" Malfoy glowered. "Need I remind you that he switched sides at great personal sacrifice? Promise not to taunt him again!"

He scratched his cheek. "Gee, I mean I _could_, but are you sure? Imagine being cooped up in a cold drafty cell, barely large enough to lie down straight, with Dementors as your only company. The food's the same bland shit every day, and it's so gloomy all year round you might as well forget the sun exists." Leaning in Malfoy's direction, he lowered his voice. "Wouldn't you be tempted by a delicious nutty sweet? A rush of sugar to ward off the despair even for a minute? Just one little dick... No one would have to know..."

Blood suffused Malfoy's cheeks, and with a bellow, he lunged. Harry scooted back along the bench, raising his arm to protect his face. Malfoy got a couple of punches in before Cedric and Tony pulled him away.

"Break it up, you lot!" The guard waddled up and rapped his stubby wand against the bars. "I'll Body-Bind you if I have to, don't think I won't!"

The inmates exchanged glares before slumping on the bench. Tony and Cedric crammed themselves into the middle while Harry and Malfoy perched on the opposite ends.

Eyeing the heavily breathing Malfoy, Harry rubbed his sore cheek. "For all you know, they could be looking forward to our packages."

Malfoy's fists clenched. "Don't talk to me."

"Perhaps old Lucius's days are a little brighter because he gets to nibble on a—"

"Would you shut up?" Cedric exclaimed, raising a hand to restrain Malfoy. "I know they're convicts and all, but this is beyond petty."

"I'm just saying," he murmured. "Doing a public service here."

Cedric gave him a warning look, and Harry went quiet as he munched on more chocolate. Several minutes passed in silence, tempers cooled down, and the guard returned to perusing his newspaper.

Having eaten as many penises as he could stomach, Harry put away the bag and licked his sticky fingers. Catching Malfoy's eye, he grinned. "Oi, don't get your wand in a knot. I'll owl your old man a bottle of Firewhisky as an apology."

"I suspect you'll soon be on the receiving rather than the sending end," Malfoy said darkly. "Better stock up on those idiotic sweets, Potter, because unlike my father, you won't be getting out."

Harry's grin faded. "Say what now?"

"In case you forgot, we're here for trying to summon a demon. A lifetime in Azkaban isn't even the worst-case scenario—they might just reinstate the Dementor's Kiss for you." He grimaced. "_Us_."

"It won't come to that, though, right?" Tony glanced around. "They'll figure out they got the wrong guys and let us go."

Malfoy shook his head. "Aurors investigate a site of a demonological ritual in the middle of nowhere, and we just happen to wander in? I'm surprised they aren't interrogating us right now. The laws against demonology are ancient and harsh."

"How harsh are we talking, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Let's just say they would've been within rights to summarily execute us. No one's amended those laws in centuries—there just was no need."

"I knew it, I _knew_ I should've gone home," Cedric moaned. "Just so you know, I hate you guys."

"The feeling's mutual, I assure you," Malfoy said.

An uneasy silence descended as each of them was left with their own dark thoughts. Harry drummed his fingers against the bench and stared through the bars.

"This smacks of an attempt to frame me. Probably some fanatic looking to avenge their Dark Lord." He couldn't help glancing at the opposite end of the bench.

Malfoy met his gaze. "Recall that we're on the same broomstick, Potter."

Frowning, Tony turned to him as well. "Come to think of it, _you_ were the one who got us drunk on that crap, weren't you?"

Malfoy bristled. "What are you insinuating, Goldstein? Come out and say it."

The standoff was broken when the door to the room opened letting in a pair of Hitwizards: a burly older man with a ruddy complexion, and a rail-thin youth who nevertheless had a stripe on his sleeve that Harry assumed indicated higher rank.

"You're relieved," the youth said with nary a glance at the guard. His beady eyes surveyed the inmates. When they landed on Harry, a bucktoothed grin appeared on his face. "How the mighty have fallen... There were always rumors about you indulging in all sorts of unnatural things, Potter, but your heroics always eclipsed those... until now. Not even you can weasel your way out of this."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Right... Am I supposed to know you or something?"

"Theodore Nott," Malfoy said in a bored tone. "No wonder you don't remember—he's no one important."

Nott's face soured. "I expected better from someone trying to turn over a new leaf, Malfoy. Well, it was only a matter of time before you got your dues."

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Malfoy drawled, inspecting his fingernails.

"You'll see." Nott perched atop the desk, the grin reappearing on his ratty face. "Have patience."

Harry could've sworn Nott's partner gave them an apologetic shrug before proceeding to stare into space like a man well used to long, boring shifts. Nott himself produced a ridiculously ornate pipe and began loading it with tobacco from a tin, pausing occasionally to grace them with a superior look.

"Wasn't this twerp a Voldemort sympathizer?" Tony whispered.

"Nott's just an opportunistic blowhard who enjoys throwing his weight around." Malfoy made a face. "Although he does know a thing or two about Dark magic. Always had an obsession with it, if not much talent."

Harry scooted closer to avoid being overheard. "I don't like this. Locked up without wands, no one telling us a thing... Feels like those times back at Hogwarts when you just _knew_ something bad was about to happen." He screwed up his face, then burped loudly. "S'cuse me."

"You sure it's not just gas?" Tony joked, but it fell flat.

Cedric gazed down at the hands clasped in his lap. "I didn't want to say this because it sounded stupid, but I've had this sense of... wrongness ever since we got here. But what can we do except hope for the best?"

Harry scratched his nose. "We could break out." Wincing at the outcry, he raised a palm. "If Malfoy's to be believed, the next thing to enter through those doors could be a Dementor, and we'll be lucky if it's only to take us to Azkaban. I saw Fudge order Sirius's execution on the spot with my own eyes, and while Scrimgeour's less of an idiot, he _is_ more of a ruthless bastard."

"They're bound to give us a proper trial," Cedric said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. "It's not wartime anymore."

"Well, you're welcome to stay and test that theory." Harry glanced at Tony. "It's not you I need to convince anyway."

Tony chewed on his lip as he regarded their guards. "I'd rather get punished for jailbreak later than get snogged by a Dementor now," he whispered at length. "I'm with you."

"You're delusional," Malfoy scoffed. "Only those keyed into the wards can open the bars, and then you'd have to fight Hitwizards wandless."

"Ah." Tony's face fell. "The bars are a problem. Don't suppose you have anything useful up your you-know-what?"

Harry cracked a smile at the phrasing. "Only my prescriptions from St. Mungo's and a couple enchanting experiments." His duelist's robes were one thing, but a certain pair of unmentionables would've taken too long to explain. "Oh, and that creepy acorn from the dryad."

"No cloak? If only we could get them to open the cell, I'd give them a taste of gorilla warfare."

"Am I the only one who's lost track of this conversation?" Cedric mumbled.

"No cloak," Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. "Damn it. Unless mixing Dittany salve and pain-relieving potions just happens to create an explosion strong enough to break enchanted steel, we're out of luck."

Malfoy snorted derisively. "An explosion. Seriously, Potter?" He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Although, if the potion contains salamander blood, it might cause the Dittany to smoke... A reaction similar to when it comes in contact with an open wound."

Harry's lips stretched into a grin. "Really now?"

Cedric stared at him, then cuffed Malfoy on the back of his head.

"Ow! What do you think you're doing, Diggory?"

"I've seen that look on his face before," Cedric said, "and it never led to anything good."

Malfoy regarded Harry before grudgingly nodding. "I probably deserved that. Would it be too much to ask you not to do anything rash, Potter?"

"I assure you I've carefully weighed our options," Harry said, mimicking his snooty tone. Glancing warily at the guards—Nott was puffing on something that clearly _wasn't_ tobacco with a blissed-out expression—he waved the others closer and launched into a hushed explanation.

"I won't be a part of this," Malfoy hissed when he finished. "Even if this works—which I find entirely unlikely—it'll just make matters worse!"

Cedric bobbed his head. "Running will only make us look like real criminals."

Harry pouted. "This is one of those rare occasions I wish I had Gryffindors with me. Tony?"

His best friend's eyes gleamed. "Let's do this."

Suppressing a grin, he slipped a potion vial and the jar of salve into Tony's pocket. After Tony surreptitiously scooped up a palmful of the salve, Harry reclaimed the jar and gave a terse nod.

"_Don't_," Cedric hissed, "this is insane."

Heedless, the duo stepped into the middle of the cell and crouched with their backs to the bars to smear a brownish goo across the floor in a crude approximation of a circle. For good measure, Harry sketched some vaguely runic symbols inside it.

"What are you doing?" Nott had pulled the pipe out of his mouth and was scrabbling for his wand.

"The world will burn!" Harry exclaimed. Materializing another potion, he uncorked it with his teeth, splashed it atop their artwork, and tossed the empty vial at Nott. Thick greenish smoke billowed up, making him cackle in delight. "May the fires of hell consume all!"

Standing up, Tony spread his arms theatrically; as his own vial clattered empty to the floor, smoke spewed from his splayed palms. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh—"

A crimson jet of light launched by the older Hitwizard impacted his chest, cutting the chant. Swearing inwardly, Harry poured his last potion straight into the salve jar, gave it a vigorous shake, and chucked it at the bars. With a shatter of glass, an opaque green cloud belched forth, veiling the cell from view.

"You're too late, fools!" he cried. "The summoning will—_achoo_—continue while the circle remains unbroken!"

Nott's panicked voice came through the smoke. "Get in there and stop them, Hutchins! I'm sounding the alarm!"

Another crimson jet zipped into the cell, almost hitting Malfoy, who slid off the bench to huddle underneath. "I've nothing to do with this! It's all their fault! It's all Potter and Goldstein, you hear?"

A blaring siren drowned out the yells. Covering his nose with a sleeve, Harry looked around blindly until a rattling of metal broke through the din. He bent his knees in preparation to tackle the Hitwizard, not liking his chances against the burlier, and more importantly, two-handed man. Bloody Tony just had to get knocked out.

A hand clasped his shoulder, making him jump. "I'll handle him," Cedric said in a resigned tone. "Just like old times, eh?"

Striding past, he vanished into the smoke. A few seconds later, there was a slam, a pained grunt, and a heavy thud. Harry extended his hand and edged in that direction.

"Stupefy," Cedric said, crimson flashing in the smoke.

Harry tried to speak, but the smoke stung his throat, making him cough. Cedric re-emerged sporting a wand and hauling Tony's unconscious figure by the collar. A muttered _Rennervate_, and their accomplice was awake and rubbing the back of his head.

"Hutchins?" Nott called out. "Did you break the circle? Damn it, answer me, man!"

Through the thinning smoke, Harry spied a rail-thin figure by the door that lead out of the room. Hutchins lay inside the cell, just before the open bars.

He slapped Tony's back. "Go, Four Centimeters!"

The Animagus sprang forward, shapeshifting mid-step into a gorilla and bounding through the clearing smoke with a roar.

"D-demon!" Nott screamed, waving his wand ineffectually before Tony rammed him into the wall.

Stepping over the unconscious Hutchins, Harry and Cedric exited the cell while Tony shifted back and grabbed Nott's wand. Blood trickled from the back of the Hitwizard's head, and he wasn't moving.

"Shit, I hope he's okay," Tony said, panting.

Glimpsing movement in the corridor beyond the door, Harry slammed it shut. "Seal it!"

"Colloportus," Cedric said. "Oh, _come on—_Colloportus."

The door squelched shut. Leaving Tony and Cedric to further reinforce it, Harry went to rummage through the guard desk. He didn't find anything useful in the drawer, but groping around the desk's underside, he came across a lever that ended the infernal screech of the alarm.

Muffled shouts from outside became audible. The doorknob rattled before a boom shook the door in its frame.

"You people are imbeciles," Malfoy said from inside the cell. "What is blocking off your only exit going to achieve?"

"Either help or shut up," Harry snapped, toppling the heavy desk and dragging it across the floor with adrenaline-fueled strength. "Get over here!"

Cedric and Tony scurried behind the scant cover while Harry took up a position beside the shaking door. He glanced at the pale faces peeking from behind the desk; Cedric was wild-eyed, while Tony sported a deranged grin Harry was certain was mirrored on his own face.

A deafening explosion blasted the door off its hinges and slammed it onto the floor. Jets of light streaked through the doorway, causing Harry to flinch and press his back against the wall. An overeager Hitwizard jumped in, caught a Stunner with his face, and slumped back into the hands of his colleagues.

Someone barked a command, and the brown-robes charged in, spreading out to surround the desk. One came so close to Harry, he could see the pores on the back of his neck; he tapped his shoulder, and as the man whirled around, walloped him in the nose. Cedric's Stunner took care of the rest, and Harry scrambled to grab the fallen wand.

With alarmed cries, the brown-robes reoriented on the new threat. Harry's hasty shield fractured under the opening salvo. Too many—too close—

His gaze flicked to the Hitwizard under his feet before a hooking motion of his wand hoisted him into the line of fire. Pushing on the impromptu shield, Harry launched himself into the enemy's midst.

Screams mixed with the crackle of magical energies. Running into someone with a jarring bump, Harry animated the unconscious Hitwizard to shamble around like a well-preserved Inferius before lashing out with point-blank hexes. A Bludgeoner slugged him in the stomach, knocking him into someone; he threw his elbow back, eliciting a pained cry, before bringing his wand to bear on a Hitwitch before him.

Before he could hex her, his legs turned to jelly, and he dropped to his knees with a yelp. An invisible force wrested the borrowed wand out of his fingers. The Hitwitch pointed hers between his eyes.

He lurched forward and grabbed a fistful of her robes. Meeting her startled gaze, he grinned and vanished them.

His jaw sagged. Before his eyes swayed a pair of pendulous breasts, their creamy tops peeking out of a lacy black bra. His gaze inadvertently swept down a flat stomach to the matching knickers, skimpy ones, with a little white bow on the front—

He blinked at the ceiling, his surroundings abruptly silent. Tony hovered over him, pressing a wand into his palm. To their right, Cedric huddled behind the battered, slightly smoking desk.

He pushed himself up. "How long—"

"Careful," Tony said, holding him down. "After your stunt, we knocked the grunts out, but they called in the Aurors."

Harry peeked over the top of the desk, taking in the unconscious Hitwizards scattered around the room and the translucent shield across the doorway, behind which clustered a group in red robes. As if on cue, a stern female voice rang out.

"_We're authorized to use lethal force! You have one minute to come out with your hands up!_"

Malfoy edged out of the cell, waved his hands above his head, and weaved through the bodies toward the exit. "I surrender! I'm not resisting, it was all them! Please, I have a wife and—and pets!"

"Good job!" Tony yelled. "Keep distracting them!"

Malfoy nearly tripped, halting to glare over his shoulder. "I wasn't trying to—I swear—"

"_All of you come out in a line! Thirty seconds! This is your last warning_!"

Malfoy contemplated the Aurors behind the barrier, then the trio behind the desk. Letting out an impotent growl, he scampered back into the cell.

"This isn't looking good," Cedric said, brushing aside the hair matted to his forehead. "Let's do as she says."

Harry took a steadying breath. "It can't be helped. I'll use _that_."

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded. "So be it."

Cedric's head swiveled between them. "What are you on about?"

"Haven't the faintest," Tony said cheerfully.

Cedric groaned. "You two are bonkers."

"Just watch," Harry said, failing to smother a smile. He inhaled deeply, then sprang to his feet and thrust his arm out. "Infinite—_fuck_!"

Ducking to avoid an electric-blue lance, he frantically patted down his smoldering hair. With heavy-booted footfalls, the Aurors streamed into the room, and only Cedric's timely shield saved them from getting blasted to gory bits.

Tony's wand blurred, and a roar came as the broken door became a lion. "Stop goofing off and use—whatever it is!"

"It's rude to interrupt someone calling their attack," Harry said, sticking his hand out above the desk. A bundle of red lace materialized in his palm and brushed it softly before flapping away.

A crackling green spiral smashed the shield, and Harry raised another, but not before a flurry of hexes knocked Cedric down. Leaning over him, he dispelled what he could, breathing easier when Cedric came to with a cough.

Confused voices rang out, and the barrage dwindled. Flashes of spellfire persisted, but it was no longer aimed at their position. Last came the exclamations of alarm and barked orders.

"Burn them!"

"—too dangerous indoors—"

"Don't vanish—_mmph_!"

A pair of lacy knickers fluttered overhead like a giant butterfly, causing Cedric and Tony to turn and gape. Grinning, Harry peeked out in time to witness a bearded Auror get buried under an avalanche of red fabric. Two of his colleagues fought on valiantly, but the room was swarming with knickers, and each Vanishing Spell, each Impediment Jinx only grew their number.

His grin widened as a red-robed witch cut a swath through the panties only for them to multiply and swoop down to envelop her in a silky cocoon. The last Auror cried out, his wand spewing spell after spell, until he too fell to the floor gagged and wrapped up to his neck.

"That's that," Harry said smugly. Seeing Cedric lift his wand, he pushed it down. "Careful. Hit any knickers, and you'll get buried too."

Rising with a groan, he went around dishing out point-blank Stunners. Soon the Aurors were sleeping soundly, each swathed in bright red undergarments. Countless more pairs fluttered idly in the air, spreading a floral scent of fabric softener.

"Okay, I'll bite." Tony gestured vaguely. "What, exactly, is this?"

"They're women's knickers. Not something you get to see very often, I gather." Harry chuckled when Tony flipped him the bird. "I've been curious about Weasleys' multiplying fireworks, but they wouldn't tell me what enchantments they used, so one day when I was bored, I decided to have a go at recreating them. Some knickers this weirdo stalker keeps mailing me just happened to be on hand, one thing led to another... Sirius's face when he walked in on me and I said I'd been 'experimenting' was priceless, let me tell you."

"I thought I was hallucinating," Cedric murmured, nudging away a pair of unmentionables that got in his face. "So what next?"

"Next we get our stuff, go back to Grimmauld, and put it under the Fidelius," Harry said.

Tony raised a finger. "_Or_ we could go to my flat and take any of the three international Portkeys I've strategically hidden around. Have a little holiday in the tropics until this blows over."

"_Three_ hidden Portkeys?" Cedric said. "Who even does that?"

"Someone who understands how fragile the veneer of civilization is," Tony said somberly.

"Our stuff first," Harry reminded. "Can you find your way around here?"

Tony shook his head. "Never needed to go as deep into the DMLE as the holding cells."

Pursing his lips, Harry turned toward the cell to see Malfoy cowering under the bench. "Malfoy? Any clue where our wands might be?"

"You lunatics didn't hear it from me, but try the evidence vault." Malfoy pulled himself up onto the bench and folded his arms. "_I'm_ staying here like a good law-abiding suspect, thank you very much."

Harry and Tony exchanged a glance, then leveled their wands at him.

Malfoy scowled and stood up. "I _loathe_ you people."

They crept through the corridors with great care but encountered no further resistance. The cubicles in the Auror Office were deserted as if there had been no more on duty besides the four they had taken out. The lock on the evidence vault did give them some trouble, but between them, they managed to spell it open, and Harry was soon holding his wand again.

"_Ahh_." He sighed in pleasure as it spurted white sparks.

Cedric and Tony had similar, albeit less vocal reactions. The latter also got his hands on a sooty book from the same locker as their wands and was perusing it curiously.

Malfoy stared at his wand with a conflicted expression before sighing and picking it up. Harry tensed, taking half a step back.

"I suppose I'm a fugitive now," Malfoy said morosely, rolling it between his fingers.

Harry clapped him on the back. "Chin up. Sirius Black used to be one, and look at him now."

Malfoy didn't appear comforted but nevertheless followed them down the corridor to the Apparition platform through which they had been brought in. Back in possession of their wands, they moved more confidently and again reached their destination without incident.

Malfoy immediately stepped into the circular chamber and spun on the spot. He did a funny little wobble and bent over clutching his head. "Blocked."

Not willing to trust his word, Harry attempted to Disapparate himself, only to smack into what felt like a brick wall.

"Fuck," he said feebly. "Is it because of the alarm?"

Tony's face was pale as he said, "Our only way out is through the Atrium. The wards cover everywhere else."

"They'll be watching the lifts," Harry said. "Sneak up the stairs?"

Malfoy shook his head. "There _are_ no stairs."

"What about fire safety?"

Malfoy gave him a blank look. "Fire safety?"

He sighed. "Lifts it is."

They doubled back, skirted the deserted cubicles, and trooped into the hallway leading out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As the lifts came into sight, causing everyone to quicken their steps, a door with a plaque proclaiming it Wizengamot Administration flew open, and an ashen-faced man barged out. He took several steps toward the lifts before realizing he had company.

"Who are you people?" he demanded. "Haven't you heard?"

Tony jostled his way to the front. "I've come to deliver my resignation."

The man's eyes bugged out. "_Goldstein_? Weren't you down in the—"

"Stupefy," Tony said.

Lowering the wand he had raised, Harry hurried past the slumped-over man. Tony took a moment to kick him in the shin before following.

"Always wanted to do that," he said to the unasked question.

They piled into the leftmost elevator. Cedric took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Harry pressed the button for Atrium. The double doors clanged closed, and a pleasant tune started playing. He whistled along unconsciously.

Cedric slammed his fist on the wall. "_Please_ tell me you have a plan."

He grinned and fingered his wand, his heart pumping. "No plan survives contact with the enemy. We'll improvise."

"Just get me past the checkpoint," Malfoy said tersely, facing the door. "You owe me that much for going along with your lunacy."

The lift stopped, and the doors slid open revealing half a dozen Aurors and twice as many Hitwizards behind them, their ranks bristling with extended wands. Harry's jaw dropped and all thoughts of battle fled his mind.

"Drop your damned wands!" ordered a baldie—Robards, Harry recalled—his wandtip alit with an unformed spell.

Unwilling to part with his wand again, Harry dematerialized it and raised his hand. Tony didn't comply quickly enough and was smashed into the back of the lift by a trigger-happy Auror.

"Hold your fire!" A towering black man squeezed through to the lift, his casual blue robes distinct among the sea of red and brown. "Potter, have you gone insane?"

Harry blinked. "_Kingsley_? Long time no see, man! What are you doing here?"

"The Head Auror called me during dinner saying you were responsible for the biggest magical disaster in decades." Kingsley shook his head. "I couldn't believe what I was hearing, yet here you are, trying to break out."

"No, I meant..." Harry racked his brain. "Last I heard, you weren't an Auror anymore."

Kingsley gave him an odd look. "That would be because I was promoted to head the DMLE."

"Seriously? Congratulations, mate." Kingsley didn't appear particularly happy, so he added, "Er, Mr. Shacklebolt."

Kingsley stared at him as if trying to gauge his seriousness. "That was over a year ago. Enough. Get out, and no sudden moves."

"I keep telling people I'm not keen on politics," Harry murmured as the four of them were marched out at wandpoint. Several Aurors rushed into the lift, presumably to secure the level they had ascended from; he considered warning them, but someone shoved him forward, and he spitefully held his tongue.

"Search and disarm," Robards barked.

Harry smiled pleasantly as the Aurors waved their wands over him again and again without result.

"They're clean," a red-robed witch said.

Kingsley nodded. "Now, the only reason you lot aren't on a boat to Azkaban is that we're in the middle of an unprecedented crisis. The Ministry of Magic hasn't had to deal with a demonic incursion since the Middle Ages, and we're woefully underprepared. I intended to appeal to the ICW for help, but the Minister objected on the grounds of what that would do to our reputation." He fixed the four with an expectant stare. "This is where you come in."

"Huh?" Cedric said.

Robards harrumphed. "You summoned the thing, so you must know how to send it back. If you cooperate, we might consider... leniency in your punishment." His face contorted as if it had physically pained him to say the words.

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, haha, good one. You guys are making it sound like there's an actual demon on the loose." Met with stony expressions all around, he gulped. "Er... no shit?"

"None whatsoever," Kingsley said gravely.

"Then... then someone must be trying to frame me!" He gave Kingsley a pleading look. "Surely a veteran of the second war like you can see that."

Robards tapped his wand against his calloused palm. "Are you denying your involvement?"

"Bloody right I do!"

"Then how do you explain the _Priori Incantato_ of your wand matching the traces at the summoning site?" Robards said. "Same goes for you three."

Cedric raised his hands pleadingly. "Please, Auror, that's impossible. I wouldn't know where to start—hell, I didn't even know demons actually _existed_!"

Harry bobbed his head. "Drunk out of my mind or not, there's no reason why I—why _any _of us—would up and decide that summoning a demon was a swell idea."

"Uh, mate..." Tony held up the sooty book he had filched and spread it open around the middle.

Harry squinted at the yellowing pages. Among paragraphs of illegible blocky handwriting stood out a faded ink sketch of a naked woman. A naked woman with coiled horns, leathery wings, a spade-tipped tail, and shapely legs that tapered off into hooves.

In other words, a succubus.

He sucked in air through his teeth. "Well, _crap_."

"What is it?" Kingsley demanded.

He didn't meet his eyes. "I'm not talking without my lawyer."

"You have one on retainer?" Malfoy whispered hopefully.

"Nah, just seemed like the thing to say."

Robards jabbed his wand at Harry's chest. "Either you do as you're told, or we ship you off to Azkaban until your trial—and don't expect it to take place any time soon."

Deeming Kingsley more reasonable, Harry turned to him for support but was met with a cold stare.

Malfoy spoke up. "I—_we_ want a full pardon."

Robards whirled on him, allowing Harry to breathe easier. "Out of the question!"

"It could be arranged, provided you're successful." Kingsley raised a palm to stall his underling's objections. "Only Minister Scrimgeour has that authority, and he's working on damage control with the Muggle PM right now, but if you exterminate the demon, you'll have my support when the time comes."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "I would like that in writing, Mr. Shacklebolt."

Cedric goggled at him. "Don't tell me you're actually thinking of fighting a _demon_! Are you out of your bloody mind?"

Malfoy pursed his lips. "We aren't exactly spoiled for choice. For the record, I still deny having any hand in this summoning."

Harry found himself nodding in agreement. If the mythical succubus looked anything like the picture, he wasn't opposed to seeing her in the flesh. And, really, how dangerous could a single horny hottie be?

Robards eyed them suspiciously. "If you so much as think of running, I'll personally hunt you down."

Malfoy twitched but didn't speak.

Kingsley breathed a relieved sigh. "With this out of the way, we can start dealing with the main issue. We've set up a temporary base of operations in Wiltshire to track the demon's movements. There is only a little time before..."

The lift doors behind pinged open and an Auror rushed out, harassed by floating knickers. Approaching his boss, he spoke in hushed tones.

Robard's eyes bulged out. "Did you just say they were wrapped in—"

"Knickers, sir." The young wizard gulped under his superior's glare. "We tried to free them, but Cresswell got trapped for her trouble, and I barely escaped myself. The office is filled to bursting with those things."

"I didn't call it 'Infinite' for nothing," Harry said proudly.

"You again!" Robard's glower didn't bode well. "Undo this, Potter, immediately!"

"Er, about that..." He smiled weakly. "I haven't quite figured out how. The good news is, the enchantments aren't stable, so they'll dissolve in an hour or two if you don't feed them any more magic." He grabbed the knickers that were persistently rubbing the young Auror's cheek and put them away, earning a grateful glance.

Robards seemed to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit. "Exactly when we need every wand we can muster! Potter, so help me—"

"Stand down, Robards," Kingsley said. "We can deal with the underwear problem later. Prepare a Portkey while I extract Unbreakable Vows from these four."

The Head Auror's jaw clenched so tight Harry could hear his teeth grind. "Yes, sir."

"Unbrea—" Malfoy spluttered. "You can't coerce us, that's illegal! I know my rights!"

Robards stooped to growl in his face. "Wizengamot's minutes away from granting the Minister emergency powers, and you can rest assured he'll approve any actions his former Department takes in defense of the realm. Your _rights_ ended the moment you stepped into that summoning circle."

Harry muttered, "I hate this country sometimes."


	9. Hangover, Part 3

Harry stumbled as the Portkey dumped them on the ground and grabbed the nearest arm to steady himself. Unfortunately, said arm belonged to Robards, who yanked it away and lifted his wand.

"Never quite got the hang of Portkeys," Harry said, raising a palm.

Robards grunted and holstered his wand. Satisfied that he wasn't about to get cursed, Harry looked around, his enchanted spectacles revealing a rolling grassland and distant treetops peaking out of the evening mist. The only man-made object in sight was a canopy under which stood a brightly lit table surrounded by red- and grey-robed people. The sky was already dark except for a patch of scarlet where the sun had just set... and another one in the opposite direction.

His head swiveled between the two glows. "What in the world..."

Robards spat on the ground. "Hellfire. Merlin himself would quake in his boots at what you've set loose."

Everyone stared at the crimson light to the east as though mesmerized until Kingsley waved them toward the canopy. Harry kept glancing over his shoulder as he trailed the others. Now that he knew the origin of the glow, there came a subtle yet inexorable draw toward it. Under different circumstances, he might've called the Vow's effects fascinating: his world was becoming black and white, where everything was either in accordance with its terms or in conflict.

A large map spread atop the table came into view, as did the hordes of figurines meandering across it. Hunched over it were three cowled Unspeakables and two surly Aurors, who hastened toward their approaching superior. Robards conferred with them in hushed tones while Kingsley addressed the Unspeakables.

"What's the situation?"

"Much as before," said one, pivoting to survey the arrivals. He sounded old, and his grey robes hung off his skeletal frame, yet his motions were brisk. "Despite our efforts to stall it, the entity continues moving southeast at approximately eight miles per hour. There is no longer any doubt that its objective is Avebury."

A second Unspeakable spoke, and Harry recognized Louse's reedy voice. "As Croaker says. Were it to tap into that place of power, all bets are off. My conjecture is that it seeks to open a portal to Gehenna and unleash its armies upon our world." Several figurines scurried aside as Louse's crooked finger pointed out the location.

Harry swallowed. "You mean hell, right? Place where people like Voldemort go?"

"A woefully common misconception," scoffed the third Unspeakable, her cowl turning to acknowledge him. "Gehenna is indeed a burning, barren realm, but the only souls suffering there are those foolish enough to strike deals with its inhabitants. Ancient texts claim—"

"Let's not get sidetracked, Magpie," Louse said. "Mr. Potter, to what do we owe the pleasure? I must say, you're the last person I expected to see here."

"One moment," Kingsley interjected, raising a finger. "Robards?"

The Head Auror broke off his conversation with his subordinates. "Our people are currently evacuating the settlements between here and Avebury. Since the Prime Minister consented to unrestricted use of magic, we might just make it in time."

"Good. Join them and lead the effort. Louse..." Kingsley jerked his chin at Harry. "We found our summoners. Not only that, they've volunteered to destroy the hellspawn."

Malfoy's derisive snort was loud in the ensuing silence. The Unspeakables' cowls whipped to the four wizards before the one called Magpie bolted toward them. Harry lurched back in surprise as her parchment-skinned hand clamped around his wrist.

"However did you accomplish this? Even the Department of Mysteries thought the knowledge long lost." The darkness under her cowl seethed. "Tell me, boy!"

"None of us remember," he said, failing to free his hand from her death grip. "We, ah, were really drunk at the time."

"Preposterous!" she cried, throwing up her arms. "A ritual capable of connecting the planes would require an eminently rare arrangement of the celestial bodies, and thus decades of preparation! We know this much from the records, at least."

Louse raised a knotted hand. "Now now, Magpie, this might be your area of expertise, but it's important to approach these things with an open mind. Let's hear the youngsters out."

Tony extended the sooty book. "Can't make heads or tails of it myself, but we must've followed instructions from this."

Magpie snatched the tome, stared, then cracked it open, lingering on the first few pages, then leafing through faster and faster. Louse and Croaker shuffled up to watch.

"Reckon we got it at Sirius's—Black family's library," Harry explained. "It's full of Dark crap."

Magpie snapped the book shut, and with trembling hands, shoved it at her colleagues. "Tell me I'm seeing things."

Louse's cowl dipped to study the cover. "Ah. We could have the original retrieved from the archives for comparison, just to be certain—"

"A waste of time," Croaker said curtly. "I happened to peruse it at one point. This is a passable copy."

Louse sighed. "Oh dear."

"Does it say how to banish the demon?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Magpie exclaimed. "It is merely a translation of Johann Weyer's grimoire, an infamous hoax only significant for its historical value! You could no more summon a demon using this book than cast magic with a soup ladle!"

His mouth went agape. "That... that doesn't make sense."

Magpie waved the book around. "I should've known! The very idea of four punks not two years out of Hogwarts performing a demonic summoning is absurd!"

He scowled. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"Not helping," Cedric hissed.

Louse gave a reedy chuckle. "To our collective misfortune, so it would seem."

Malfoy, who had been growing paler by the minute, said, "Mr. Kingsley? The experts have spoken. It couldn't have been us."

Kingsley paid him no heed. "It was them alright. We confirmed it with _Priori Incantato_."

"That doesn't make any sense," Magpie echoed Harry's words, desperation coloring her voice. She opened the book again. "Hundreds of would-be demonologists tried these ceremonies to no avail!"

"Suppose," Louse said, his tone thoughtful, "suppose the diagrams here do not depict the final design, but are a cipher of a sort... or, perhaps, they're missing some crucial element..."

Croaker shook his head. "Now you're getting sidetracked, sir. Even if you're right, it could take our Arithmancers months to decipher this."

Tony punched Harry in the shoulder. "Stop looking so proud."

"Forget the book, then," Kingsley said. "How do we stop the thing?"

Magpie's hands disappeared into her obscuring cowl as though to massage her temples. "A contract must be established before the entity is allowed outside the summoning circle—that's the one thing the treatises agree on. Otherwise, the demon will be free to rampage until its heart is destroyed."

"So we do it the old-fashioned way," Kingsley said with the practicality of a veteran Auror. "Portkey them in—this discussion has gone on long enough." He fixed the four with an icy stare. "I don't need to tell you how important this is. Send that creature back where it came from, for all our sakes."

Croaker pulled a length of rope out of his pocket. "Our people will brief you on the scene. They won't join combat directly since that was deemed futile." He proffered the rope. "Frankly, I don't see how your presence will do any good, but you can't possibly muck things up more than you already have."

"Mr. Potter has managed to surprise us before," Louse remarked. "Instruct the team to support them from a safe distance if required."

Cedric's hand moved toward the rope as if on its own accord. "Aren't you coming with us, Mr. Shacklebolt?"

"Or sending any Aurors?" Malfoy added with a helpless glance at the scarlet glow above the horizon.

Kingsley shook his head. "I have to coordinate the evacuation, and we need every wand to make a last stand in case you, ah, fail. Godspeed, gentlemen."

Harry scowled, and disregarding Kingsley's outstretched hand, grasped the Portkey. The other three did likewise. Croaker tapped the rope with his wand, and off they went.

The trip thankfully ended as soon as it began, although the second Portkey in a short succession still left Harry dizzy. Tony steadied him by the arm, to which he nodded absently, his gaze drawn by the fiery colossus a few hundred yards away. Surrounded by a haze of heated air and floating sparks, it marched east leaving a trail of flames in its wake.

Tony shaded his eyes and said, rather unnecessarily, "That's no succubus."

"Did _we_ do this?" Cedric murmured.

"Not me," Malfoy said weakly. "It can't have been."

Harry worked his jaw, unable to express the mix of disappointment, relief, and instinctive fear that flooded him. Wrenching his gaze away, he regarded the Unspeakables clustered nearby. Most were aiming their wands at the distant demon and droning a chant, while a smaller group fiddled with arcane gadgets.

A stocky wizard lifted a hand to his ear and turned to the newcomers. When he set off toward them, a petite witch jogged up to him and fell in step. The two appeared to have a brief debate before coming up to them.

"Croaker informed us of your—_role_ in this," said the wizard, his hands clenching as he regarded the four in turn. "There's a thousand questions I'd like to ask, but every second is precious. By the time Level Nine tracked down the demon, it had already crossed half the country. We managed to bring it down with an anti-flight ward, but it merely shapeshifted into what you're seeing now and began walking. I don't think it even noticed us until we really got in its way. Our first encounter had us withdrawing within a minute. It was... oppressive." He wiped his palms on his robes. "We're looking at the first category seven event in living memory."

The four exchanged blank looks. Harry turned to the witch and grinned weakly at the swirl of darkness obscuring her face.

"Hey, Su. Is category seven bad? It sounds kinda bad."

"Fennec," she reminded, pointing at her cowl. "I'm glad the Department makes us write a will."

"That's awfully pessimistic of you," he said, trying to hide his unease.

Her colleague sputtered. "You aren't grasping the gravity of the situation! There's no contingency for a demonic incursion of this level!"

Su patted his upper arm without looking away from Harry. "Are you really the summoners?"

"The evidence points that way," Tony said, "but none of us remember what happened. Alcohol was involved, you see."

"Your higher-ups figured the demon escaped the circle before we could form a contract. _Someone _must've made a mistake in the schematics," Harry said in a tone that left no doubt it couldn't have been him.

"But _why_?" she asked, almost pleading.

"We didn't mean to summon—whatever that thing is." He averted his gaze. "It was supposed to be... smaller. Of female persuasion. Attractive. Like a, you know... a succubus."

"_A succubus_." She sidestepped and swept a trembling hand toward the marching behemoth.

"Frankly, I'm relieved it's a great ugly monster," he said, keeping up the bravado. "Better than fighting a sexy little devil, right, lads? Oh, don't give me those looks." He gestured at the nearby grey-robes, who had finished their chant and were engaged in a heated discussion. "If that lot have been fighting it, so can we."

"You call that _fighting_?" cried the stocky wizard. "We can barely slow it down!"

Harry frowned. "Wasn't talking to you, pal, but go on."

"Areal jinxes, transfigured obstacles... We're obstructing, delaying, nothing more. Three of our team members were nearly incinerated as soon as we made contact. Between its deadly flames and spell resistance, facing it directly is suicidal." The Unspeakable wrung his hands. "Unless you have something up your sleeves, Britain's future is all fire and brimstone."

Harry glanced at Su in question.

"Capybara's right," she said.

Harry and Tony burst out laughing.

The wizard bristled. "I'll have you know it's a stately and noble animal—listen, you clowns, this isn't the time! If the demon reaches Avebury, we're doomed!"

Harry sobered up. "Then stop puttering about and come at it all at once. With your numbers—"

"Haven't you been listening?" Capybara cried. "Its hide is impervious to spells, and any damage mends in moments. Worse yet, its flames tear through everything!"

"About time," Su murmured when Harry's face fell.

He gnawed on his lip; Kingsley's refusal to spare any Aurors suddenly made sense. "Those wankers sent us in knowing this."

"Then it's all pointless, isn't it?" Malfoy said dolefully. "I don't suppose you'd let me stay and assist your people? Dumb heroics isn't my shtick."

Capybara shook his head. "We have our orders, and you have yours. I wasn't made aware of the details, but if you're operating under an Unbreakable Vow, I don't recommend testing its limits."

Cedric rubbed his forehead. "At least my wife can't kill me if that thing gets to me first."

Capybara stuck his hand down his robe pocket and produced a palmful of black buttons. "These Floo Beetles will allow you to communicate at distance. Stick them in your ear and tap to speak."

Harry did as told, grimacing as the beetle wiggled in his ear canal before settling down. With glum looks, the others followed suit. They took a minute to test the Floo Beetles out, during which he tried, and failed, to convince them of the necessity of cool codenames.

"Try as many different spells as you can," Capybara said. "Overseer will be monitoring the battle until the end; the records should help future generations. We'll be returning to our duties." He took several steps away before looking over his shoulder. "Fennec?"

Su cast a backward glance at the lumbering colossus before squaring her slight shoulders. "I'm helping them."

"What are you saying?" Capybara exclaimed. "We were specifically ordered not to..."

She grasped the brim of her face-obscuring cowl, and with a shuddering inhalation, pulled it down. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the stares directed her way, but her head remained high. She brushed back her ponytail, then, catching Harry's eye, lifted her wand resolutely.

Capybara fidgeted. "This is highly unusual! I have to report it—nothing personal, you understand."

"Your face is unusual," Harry muttered.

At Su's unconcerned nod, Capybara retreated, muttering with his hand up in his cowl. She poked her wand into her ear and rotated it back and forth.

"_Can you hear me_?"

"Loud and clear," Harry said while others nodded. "Good to have you, Su. Let us take the front, alright?"

A frown creased her brow, but as he kept up the eye contact, her expression softened. "Then I'll act as a relay between you and my team."

Nodding, he retrieved his wand and aimed at his immobilized arm. "Diffindo. Diffindo, _ouch,_ Diffindo." Having hacked a gash into the plaster, he started ripping it off.

Cedric looked at him with concern. "Didn't the hospital say to keep it in the sling for a week?"

He rotated his shoulder, then flexed his right hand. His upper arm was a little sore, but nothing worse than that. "I heal quickly."

"Guy's a freak of nature," Tony said.

Harry reached into his malletspace for his duelist's robes. A well-practiced switching spell later, he was wearing them and putting the original ones away.

Su drew up her cowl and made a sideways V-sign in front of her eyes. "_Ack_! It's as bright as Hogwarts."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Aura reading? I see that thing does more than obscure your face." Although he wouldn't want to see some old fart doing that activation gesture.

"How did you stabilize all those enchantments?" she asked, lowering the cowl and rubbing her eyes.

He shrugged. "I didn't, not even close. They deteriorate in a couple hours unless I keep them stored away."

"Ah," she said, sounding impressed.

He grinned and opened his mouth to tell her of his tinkering, but Su abruptly turned toward the demon. It appeared to be picking up speed.

"It broke through our ward," she said.

"Then we better hurry." He scanned the grassland in the demon's path and pointed out a hillock it would reach in another minute or two. "Pop over there. We'll poke it from a distance first, see how it goes."

Cedric's eyes were fixated on the fiery glow. "Er, maybe we should think about it some—_urk_." He clutched his chest, his face ashen.

"The creature's immune to magic! What will getting in its face accomplish?" Having said his piece, Malfoy broke into something resembling a need-to-pee dance.

"It'll only get worse the longer you delay," Harry said. "C'mon, I bet it's not even that scary up close."

Grasping Cedric's shoulder, he Side-Alonged him to the crest of the hillock. An eerie crimson glow dominated the surroundings. Ignoring Cedric's indignant sputters, he turned toward its source.

"I was wrong," he whispered, shock-still. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the realization that they truly, royally, and possibly _irrevocably_ fucked up was settling in.

A flame-shrouded behemoth stomped toward them on tree-trunk legs tapering into cloven hooves that sank into the earth with every gargantuan stride. Four arms bulged at its sides, ending with four-fingered hands that gleamed with ebony claws the length of claymores. A goat-like head sat atop a thick neck merging into bulbous shoulders, slit-pupil eyes burning like holes into a blazing void. Its red scaly hide, taut over rippling muscle, radiated heat into the night air.

Swallowing, Harry scratched the reattachment scar over his tight sleeve. Apparition cracks and muted swearing rang in the background, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the monster. This was the stuff of legends, of long-forgotten nightmares come to terrorize humanity once more. For the first time, he seriously considered fleeing, but a sharp twinge in his chest killed that line of thought.

The demon drew near. Someone shook his shoulder and yelled into his ear, yet he kept staring into the enormous red-sclera eyes. They stared back, sizing him up.

The demon lumbered to a halt, and its elongated jaws parted releasing a plume of smoke, yet when it spoke, it was directly into their heads. "OPENERS OF THE GATE. STAND ASIDE AND YOUR PUNY LIVES WILL CONTINUE."

Harry's skull rang with the force of the voice that wasn't a voice. The small hope he had harbored about the whole debacle not being his fault was crushed. His mouth opened and closed before a squeaky voice he hardly recognized as his own spilled out.

"Begging your p-pardon... I d-don't suppose we could convince you to return? Er, your demonic highness?"

The demon tilted its horned head backward and rumbled in laughter. Then, as abruptly as it had started, the laughter ended, and its toothy maw opened to suck in air.

A chill ran down his spine. "Get away!"

Fire filled his vision, roaring in his ears, singing his skin. He turned on his heel. Reappearing a good distance away, he gawked as the demon belched out a crimson jet that stretched for hundreds of feet. Countless faces twisted by hate and suffering were emerging in the blaze only to vanish again. A gust of warm air brought with it sulfuric fumes and an unholy shriek. He shivered.

"_Guys_?" Tony's panicked voice said in his ear.

He lit up his wand and tapped the communicator. "Rally on my light."

There was a crack behind him. "So that's hellfire," Tony said. "Shit."

Another crack, and they were joined by Cedric. "I'll splinch if this goes on," he said, patting himself down.

Harry stuck a finger into his ear. "Su?"

"Alive," her clear voice said.

"Malfoy, you dead?"

The beetle wriggled a little. "Don't sound so eager, Potter."

Exhaling, Harry lowered his wand. The demon's head rotated, turning a wide swath of countryside into blackened wasteland seemingly just for the hell of it, until the flames sputtered out and it resumed its relentless march eastward. Had it deemed them dead, or simply unworthy of its attention?

His fingers tightened on his wand. "Go for its back."

"Nothing else for it," Tony said, shivering.

Leading by example, Harry popped onto the scorched ground behind the demon. The temperature spiked and the stench of sulfur intensified. His comrades joined him. Drawing strength from their presence, he opened the offensive with spells he had never used on a human.

The demon didn't so much as twitch, curses and hexes alike leaving no mark on its scaly hide. He paused in shock before gritting his teeth and stepping closer.

"Sectumsempra. Maulinimicus. Expulso."

The fiery explosion between its upper shoulder-blades made the hellspawn whirl around with a speed that belied its size. Leaping back, he narrowly avoided its claws, which gouged up clumps of turf. He backpedaled toward the others, but rather than give chase, it planted its hooves and rumbled.

He slapped his ear so hard it smarted. "Scatter!"

Reappearing on a nearby hill, he saw another torrent of hellfire scour the nearby grounds of all life. A quick headcount revealed that everyone had gotten away, and his stomach unclenched a fraction. Their luck wouldn't last forever.

"Quick, while it's busy!" Tony shouted.

Taking a deep breath, Harry popped behind the looming figure and vocalized to squeeze every bit of power from the spell.

"Lacero!"

A purple ribbon slashed the demon's upper arm, leaving a shallow cut that oozed black ichor. A triumphant whoop reached his ears, but to Harry, it didn't feel like much of a victory; this was a curse that sliced through tree trunks.

The demon rounded on him, the flames guttering yet continuing to dribble out its maw. He Apparated blindly, bumping into Malfoy on arrival. A glaring globule of crimson clung to the hem of Malfoy's robes, eating at the fabric with terrifying swiftness while he struggled to rip them off.

With a jab of his wand, Harry yanked the robes off and banished them aside. Blood-red flames surged, consuming the garment, and nothing but ashes fell to the ground. They exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"I'm _not_ thanking you," Malfoy said. "All of this is your fault to begin with."

Harry touched his communicator. "Guys, whatever you do, don't get hit by the fire."

"Gee, you think?" Tony said.

Harry snorted, then jerked his chin at the demon. "Stick with me, Malfoy. My Cutter drew blood—maybe we'll do better if we hit it together."

They attacked the lumbering behemoth, escaped its flames by a hair's breadth, attacked again. To Harry's chagrin, the wound across its arm had disappeared without a sign, and Malfoy's patently Dark curses fared no better than his own. His only consolation was that they were stalling it—for now.

He lost count of the Apparitions, each worsening his dizziness, his adrenaline-sharpened focus alone preventing him from leaving behind body parts. Jumping in for another futile assault, he goggled at an oozing scratch on the demon's shin. A white wolf bounded around its leg, nipping at its ankles, until getting trampled under a barrel-sized hoof.

He could've smacked himself—_of course, _indirect attacks. While transfiguring something that not only moved on its own power but was large enough to inflict damage was beyond him, perhaps he could find a different way.

Wishing he had inherited his father's talent, he fashioned the earth before him into a lumpy golem about his own height and twice his width. Instead of transfiguring the soil, he played to his strengths, reinforcing it and granting the golem's limbs unnatural heft. One final charm imbued it with motion and sent it off.

He had raised two more by the time the first golem waddled up to the demon, only to be swatted aside like a fly. His excited grin faded. Dirt wasn't cutting it.

He looked around for Tony's straw-colored mop and popped over. Tony spared him a glance as he raised wolf after wolf out of pockmarked earth.

"Can you make these tougher?" Harry asked without preamble. "Stone, metal?"

"Sure," Tony said, "but animating the joints is too finicky."

Harry gave him a pointed look.

"Right," Tony said, his eyes widening. "Make sure to keep up!"

The motions of Tony's wrist became more angular, and the next beast rose from the earth with a jangle of metal. Made of overlapping steel plates, it stood lifeless, its fangs glinting in the reddish glow.

Harry's wand swished, coaxing the steel to become flexible where it had to bend, and durable where it did not. Tony wasn't yet done with the next one, so he used the opportunity to add something frivolous. The construct's eyes lit with a mimicry of life, and throwing its head back, it howled as loud as a dozen wolves in concert.

"Show-off," Tony said, grinning as he finished up the second wolf for him to animate.

He returned the grin as he sent the construct loping toward the demon. "Let's see how the fucker likes that."

The fucker, as evidenced by a deafening roar, didn't like that at all. Whereas the live animals did little more than pester it, the enchanted steel fangs shred its hide in sprays of ichor. Ceasing its march, the demon stomped at their snarling murder machines, but for every one it turned into scrap, another took its place.

Tony quickly found his rhythm, and Harry no longer had the leisure to gawk. With the charmwork consuming his attention, he nearly failed to notice the demon capturing two steel wolves in its claws. Paying no heed to their biting and mauling, it cocked its upper arms and braced on the ground with the lower.

Tracing the likely trajectory with his gaze, Harry slapped his ear. "Ced, get down!"

With a whoosh of displaced air, the hunks of steel hurtled toward a distant robed figure. Impacting the ground with resounding thunks, they threw up spouts of dirt that obscured Cedric from sight. The demon trampled toward him, dragging several wolves that had latched onto its shins.

"Stay here!" Harry yelled before Apparating in.

Dirt rained on his head. Shielding his eyes, he looked around wildly until he found Cedric rising to his feet beside a crumpled construct.

"Cedric—"

The ground trembled, and Harry whirled to find the demon mid-pounce. His instinctive Banisher knocked aside an enormous claw so it passed above his head rather than lopping it off. Another burly limb lashed out at Cedric, who lurched back. The tip of a gleaming claw zoomed an inch from his throat, but just when it looked like he would escape unscathed, the claw reversed and backhanded him into the air.

Cedric collapsed in a heap, and the demon raised its arm for a finishing strike. Harry's heart stopped. Before his brain caught up, his wand began sketching intertwined ouroboroses.

The spell required uncompromising precision. Normally, it was something he only dared practice miles away from the nearest person. Yet he didn't pause to think, finishing the obnoxiously intricate gesture in the nick of time.

"Aevum Fugus!"

An umber bubble left his wand, and with a discordant noise of grinding gears, ballooned into a nebulous sphere that swallowed the hellspawn, arresting its momentum. As flakes of rust swirled within, the steel constructs crumbled to dust, grass decayed, and the rich black soil disintegrated into a grey powder. Even the stench of sulfur was replaced by something sterile. Yet the demon stood unchanged amid the desolation, stretching its claws at Cedric as though through molasses.

Harry gaped.

The horned head turned slowly toward him. "I AM TIMELESS, WORM. AS ALL IN YOUR PLANE WITHERS, I ENDURE."

Shaking off his shock, he crouched beside Cedric. His breathing was shallow, and blood trickled from his mouth. Harry shot up green sparks, then touched his ear, but before he could speak, Su appeared with a crack.

She gave the demon a wide-eyed look before casting spells at Cedric. Harry stood guard. The vortex of rust inside the sphere slowed, and the demon was close to wading out.

"He needs healing," she said.

"Go!"

No sooner had he spoken than he demon's arm hurtled from above like a toppling tree. At his gesture, an opalescent dome blocked the strike with a resounding _clang_. The crack behind him was drowned out by a flurry of attacks from all sides.

Sparks flared as razor-sharp claws screeched against the dome. It fractured. His ears rang with the impacts as he employed every ounce of his ability to maintain the shield. The instant he slipped up, the claws would break through, and he wasn't at all sure he could Apparate before getting torn to shreds.

Through the spider web of cracks, he saw white wolves doggedly tearing at the demon's ankles, yet it ignored them in favor of bigger prey. Its four arms coiled around the dome as though to crush it, and its maw stretched into an approximation of a sneer.

He fell to one knee, turning to Occlumency to stave off the mounting terror. While his wand repaired the shield, his mind ran through different scenarios and discarded them one after another. The slit-pupil eyes bore into him as the demon's chest distended. There might not be a way out. He plunged deeper into Occlumentic tranquility. There _had_ to be.

The demon's serrated jaw unhinged, and hellfire flickered in its throat. He rose into a classic duelist's stance. Time paused in a moment of perfect clarity, the pinnacle of mind arts even their masters attained only once or twice in their lives. Flames spilled from the demon's gaping maw, consuming his vision. He stood resolute, reaching out to the crimson tongues as they did to him.

Crabbe had once told him that Fiendfyre was 'angry, but stupid.' It was only after he learned to beat its animalistic fury into submission that he understood how apt the description was.

Hellfire was different. It had a mind of sorts, or perhaps a melding of minds, driven insane by neverending agony. Its malicious intelligence sought to inflict the same suffering upon everyone and everything under the sky. The demon didn't so much command it as let it have its way.

Lifting his wand, he strengthened the connection, not to impose his will, but to soothe and quell. He wasn't an enemy, wasn't the source of their pain.

He wasn't prepared for the cacophony of disjointed voices that assaulted his consciousness.

_Set everything ablaze—make it stop—destroy—hurts— reduce it to ashes—burn burn burn—_

"_Do you wish to end your pain_?" he transmitted.

The fire roiled, the voices surrounding him. Smoke scalded his lungs, and he noted impassively that it must've been his clothes smoldering.

_It speaks—who—it matters not—delicious soul—incinerate—turn to cinders—join us—_

Any sweat had long evaporated, and his skin began to blister. Disassociating from the pain, he created an image of the demon in his mind. "_You're many, and it is one. Destroy it and end your suffering._"

_Destroy the Tormentor—impossible—no prey spoke before—all thing burn—consume it!_

The volume of the chorus rose to a crescendo. The flames surged, and with a vengeful shriek, descended upon the demon.

His legs gave out as the pain of his burns caught up with him. Someone was shouting in his ear, but he couldn't comprehend the words.

The demon became a blinding fireball, the heat searing his exposed skin. Shielding his face with a smoking sleeve, he scrabbled away. His parched lips cracked as he wheezed with effort.

A mighty roar had him flinching and covering his ears. The fireball exploded, revealing a sooty towering figure. It stamped its hoof, shaking the ground, then threw its head back and inhaled. The dispersed hellfire rushed down its gullet with a final desperate screech.

To Harry's dismay, the demon barely looked worse for the wear. One of its curved horns had splintered off, and patches of its hide were charred, but it was mending before his eyes. Its body steamed in the night cool as it tread forth, the bottomless pits of its eyes ablaze.

He rolled to evade a claw that plunged into the ground beside him. Pushing up, he sought the void of Apparition, but a blow strong enough to cause him to black out momentarily sent him soaring. Plopping almost gently on his back—hooray for the Cushioning Charms on his robes—he struggled to regain his wind.

The demon bent its gargantuan legs and leapt. He shakily raised his wand, but the fiend slammed down and pinned him with its monstrous hoof. He yowled in pain as the crushing weight drove the air out of his lungs, the wand slipping from his grip.

"EXPLAIN YOURSELF, MORTAL. SOULFIRE IS NOT FOR YOUR KIND TO WIELD."

He met its blazing eyes as his right hand fumbled desperately around the grass. "_That wasn't even my best trick_," he thought. "_Leave the way you came before you get hurt_."

The pressure increased, and he whimpered as his ribcage creaked and bent. Blackness crept around the edges of his vision, and his groping fingers lost their strength.

The demon lowered its head and growled, the sulfur on its breath stinging his eyes. "TELL ME AND YOUR DEMISE WILL BE QUICK."

His upper lip curled back. "_More weight_."

Through the rudimentary mental link, he felt the demon's fury spike. The weight abruptly lifted. He reflexively sucked in a rasping breath, only to choke as he saw the cloven hoof loom over his head. His limbs jerked feebly in an attempt to roll away, but his body was too battered to obey.

"Expecto Patronum!" a male voice rang out.

Silvery light flared in the corner of his vision, brightening even as the hoof descended. In a heart-stopping instant, he glimpsed a translucent peacock with a fanned tail, brilliant against the night sky, before it collided with the demon.

The hellspawn howled and reeled backward, cradling its blackened arm as its head swiveled in search for the foe who dared harm it. Harry shook off his surprise, and reclaiming his wand, scrambled away on all fours.

A soft _crack_ heralded the arrival of Su, who slung his arm around her shoulders, hauled him to his feet, and Apparated. They landed a solid distance away, as evidenced by the dimming of the surroundings. He barely registered her misty dark eyes before another Unspeakable plucked his glasses off and thrust something like a perfume bottle into his face.

"Close your eyes."

"Wha—" Harry sputtered as a spray of liquid doused his face.

"And your mouth," the man said belatedly.

Grimacing at the disgustingly bitter taste, Harry wisely held his tongue. His ire was replaced by relief when a pleasant coolness spread over his burns, alleviating the pain. Once small deft fingers rolled up his sleeves and the cool liquid soaked his stinging hands, he dared open his mouth.

"Thanks... that helps."

"How is he?" Su asked.

"Some burns will require further treatment," the presumed Mediwizard said. The spritzing ceased, and a wand tapped Harry's ribs. "There's extensive bruising around the thoracic cage as well as numerous microfractures... hmm, what do we have here..."

"Verdict?" Su said tensely.

"He can still fight." The Mediwizard moved on to treat Harry's other hand. When he next spoke, his tone was apologetic. "I would evacuate him if it were my call, you know that—but even if we flout our orders, there's still his Unbreakable Vow to take into consideration."

Harry squinted at the dark blur that was Su. "Vow or not, it's our mess to clean up."

"And thanks to your friend's discovery, you even have a chance!" the Mediwizard said cheerfully.

Friend? Now that he thought of it, Tony didn't have a peacock for a Patronus, and Cedric didn't seem the type... A muscle in his cheek twitched as he connected the dots. _Malfoy_.

"How's Cedric?" he asked, trying not to think about the life debt he likely owed.

"Alive, but unconscious," the Mediwizard answered. "Lucky chap—he'll stay asleep until you defeat the demon or everyone in the country perishes." The blur that was Su shifted, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "My bad, just thinking out loud."

Su braced a palm on Harry's shoulder and dabbed around his eyes with a handkerchief before slipping his glasses onto his nose. Her pale face came into focus. He offered her a grin, which she didn't return.

"The fire," she said tremulously. "You were _controlling_ it?"

"This is hardly the first time I've done something impossible," he said with perhaps more flippancy than his narrow escape merited. He glanced down at the hoof-shaped scorch mark on his robes—to think, Sirius had called him a nerd for spending weeks layering protections on these—then coughed and winced at a stab of pain in his throat. "Not that I'd like to try that a second time. Got any Pepper-Up?"

The Mediwizard pulled a vial from a belt case and pressed it into his hand. "Got something better."

Uncorking the piping-hot vial, he chugged it down. A spicy warmth rushed through his limbs, chasing away exhaustion. Giddy with energy, he met Su's intense gaze with a grin.

"We have work to do."

She drew a deep breath, nodded, and turned toward the red glow. Even at this distance, two silvery shapes could be seen darting around the towering demon.

Harry tapped his communicator. "Oi, I thought Dark wizards couldn't cast Patronuses."

There was a moment's silence before Draco answered, "Imagining you incinerated did the trick, Potter."

"Glad you're alright," Tony added. "Now help us out!"

He stretched, flinched, then slipped his wandtip under his collar for a quick Numbing Charm. The sight of the flame-shrouded figure wasn't conducive to any kind of happy thoughts. Aiming forward, he looked up at the starry sky.

A warm hearth, the smell of wood smoke, running water, fluffy feathers...

"Expecto Patronum!"

His palm warmed as his happiness assumed corporeal form, but when he lowered his gaze, there was no Patronus in sight. A gasp came from his side. Turning, he saw Su wrapped in throbbing silvery tentacles.

"Crap, sorry." Jabbing his wand, he pulled the Patronus away, its tentacles clinging to her waist before snapping off. At another insistent jab, the octopus reluctantly floated off toward the demon. Su wouldn't look at him.

"Expecto Patronum," she said, her voice wavering a little. A silvery fox appeared, twitched its large, perky ears, and bounded after the octopus.

The demon struck at the oncoming Patronuses, but its claws passed through them harmlessly, and they melted into its limbs, lessening its fiery glow. A furious roar reached their ears. With grim satisfaction, Harry prepared for another go. One could only fill themselves with happiness on demand so many times, but it helped that he had stocked up on good memories this spring.

"Why would Patronuses hurt it?" he asked, wrestling another octopus toward the demon.

"Demons are beyond Dark," Su said. "Your _friend_ made an impressive deduction."

He gave her a mock glare as she launched another Patronus with enviable ease.

"I'll inform my team," she said, hope tinging her voice.

He nodded. "You do that. I want to test something."

Not waiting for an answer, he Apparated to a hill before the demon and set off down the slope. With the potion coursing through his veins, he felt he could move mountains. A hundred feet away, he started a brutal spell-chain; the demon presented such an enormous target the range was no issue.

The first curse splashed uselessly against its hide, not drawing its attention from another batch of Patronuses. He flung more as he walked. The second clipped its knee, making it stumble, and the third missed. At last, an acidic jet hit its blackened flank, causing its hide to bubble and melt, exposing the muscle fibers underneath.

The demon roared, its malevolent eyes zeroing in on Harry as its heavy legs bulged with tension. He spun on his heel, Disapparating as the hellspawn soared toward him.

Even in his new location, he felt the ground tremble with its landing; in his hurry, he hadn't gone far enough. The oversized goat's head swiveled, seeking him out, and the demon charged.

He eyed a faraway hill and focused on his destination. The demon barreled closer. As he was about to Apparate, a silvery light flickered at the edge of his vision. Pivoting, he saw half a dozen Patronuses galloping, flying, and scurrying to his defense.

The demon plunged its claws into the earth to bring itself to an abrupt halt. Tony's cuckoo dived at its head, forcing it to shield with its arms.

Harry whooped, then touched a finger to his ear. "Su, tell your people to keep it up. Tony, Malfoy—stop pussyfooting and hit it like you mean it!"

Draco sounded winded as he answered, "Be careful what you wish for."

"Gotcha," Tony said.

The three of them entered a deadly dance around the demon. As it lashed out at one, the others redoubled their efforts, curses unseen since the war leaving their wands in a flurry. All the while, silvery animals protected them from its flailing claws, making it howl in agony whenever they made contact. The burns they caused did heal, but slower than they were being inflicted.

The hellspawn's oppressive strength waned under the onslaught, and the swipes of its claws grew sluggish. Emboldened by the presence of the Unspeakables' Patronuses, the trio drew closer.

Ichor spurted from countless wounds across the demon's body, two of its arms hanging loosely at its sides. Its bulging chest was a mass of mangled flesh and splintered bones. At its center, a large crystal pulsed with a scarlet light. As though sensing Harry's gaze, the demon shielded itself with one of its functioning hands and snarled, spraying gobs of steaming spittle.

Su spoke in his ear. "The heart. Magpie says it's what tethers demons to our plane."

His eyes narrowed. "You heard her, lads!"

They hurled curses at the hand covering its chest. The demon roared, raised a less-damaged claw, and slashed down to sever its mangled limb at the shoulder. Seizing it before it fell, the hellspawn spun and lashed out with the improvised bludgeon.

He shielded, but not before some ichor splashed on his robes and ate into them with a sizzle. The severed limb glanced off and grazed the grass in a broad horizontal blow before sweeping Tony off his feet. As he landed with a wet _thump_, Harry swore and pelted the demon with the first hexes that came to mind to draw its attention away.

A close-by crack came, followed immediately by a faraway one. His communicator came alive. "I'll live... minute... patch up."

Harry had no time to be relieved; he was forced to shelter under a dome shield while the fiend furiously pummeled it with its makeshift weapon. A tiny arm was already worming its way out of its shoulder, and the pulsing heart disappeared under fibers of fresh muscle.

He tapped his ear. "Su, I need your team, all of it. At my signal, hit it with everything you've got." He strained his ears over the clangs of impacts. "Su, please. I know they have orders to keep their distance, but we can't win a battle of attrition—"

"Hold on," she said.

Releasing a breath, he traced his wand over the hairline cracks in the dome's surface to repair them. Flashes of light came from outside as Draco battered the demon from behind. At last, when a jet of yellow gouged a gash into its neck, it snarled and pivoted around.

Harry promptly Apparated, slumping to one knee on arrival. Wiping his forehead with a sleeve, he reached inward for his happy place.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A plume of silvery vapor dissipated in the air. He fanned it off irritably and took control of his breathing. While he was collecting himself, Su's tense voice spoke.

"You're connected. The team's standing by."

"I could kiss you," he muttered. "Expecto Patronum!"

The octopus's bulging eyes gave him a dejected look before a jab of his wand sent it sailing off. He shot up sparks and touched his ear.

"Right, folks in grey, I need you to get over here and conjure as many Patronuses as you can. Er... you can hear me, right?" He drummed his finger against the communicator.

Su said, "One-way."

"Oh." He glanced around the field. "Well, like I said, you have to—"

He flinched as a series of loud cracks announced the arrival of the Unspeakables. Their coordination was a sight to behold: where Harry's group had jumped around haphazardly, they appeared in neat clusters of three, forming a loose half-circle facing the demon.

When the entire team was present, a witch at the edge exclaimed, "Triple hazard pay!"

In response to this strange battle cry, the rest raised their wands and chorused, "Expecto Patronum!"

With a dazzling burst of silver, a legion of Patronuses swarmed the demon, drowning out its fiery aura. Canines bit, felines mauled, equines trampled, birds pecked, and an octopus disgustedly poked a silvery tentacle at its head.

Maddened, the demon clawed vicious gashes into its own body. When the Patronuses faded, it was left swaying on its feet. Its eyes, their blaze dulled yet alive, sought out the humans. It staggered forward and roared, a spark of crimson flaring in its open jaws.

Someone yelled, "Evacuate!"

"Belay that!" Harry shouted, and embraced insanity.

Staring into the demon's malefic eyes, he strode to meet it. Hellfire mushroomed in its maw, and cries rang behind him, but his steps didn't falter. Did the pathetic wretch believe it could wield Soulfire better than _him_? It would have millennia to rue its blunder after its own weapon banished it back to Gehenna.

Coming to a halt before its ravaged figure, the Eternal Warlock placed one hand behind his back and assumed a duelist's pose. The intensifying heat singed his face, but his heart pumped with excitement. He couldn't wait to reduce this impudent upstart to ashes.

Howling in frustration, the demon sucked the flames down and lifted a crippled limb to crush him.

"Now!" he yelled. "Aim high!"

His back tingled as dozens of multicolored jets sailed overhead to strike the demon, illuminating the field bright as day. The hellspawn cowered as its resilient flesh was mercilessly hacked away.

"Chains," Harry mumbled, tapping his ear. "Anyone handy with Transfiguration, chain it down, now."

"What would you ever do without me?" Tony said.

The voice hadn't come from the communicator but from behind, and Harry glanced back to find his best mate grinning weakly as he leaned on Su. Bruised all over and tottering on his feet, Tony nevertheless stepped up to the task. Steel chains the thickness of a man's arm erupted from the earth and wrapped the demon's neck, pulling it down. As it clawed at them feebly, more chains appeared and immobilized its limbs.

The hellspawn roared in impotent fury, shaking as it struggled to free itself. Its heart was in full view, bathing the scene in ominous scarlet light and casting fitful shadows on the scarred ground. Pulsing veins were bursting out of it to reconnect with the surrounding flesh.

Harry took aim. "Confringo!"

The blast seared off the forming tissue, yet did not damage the crystalline surface beneath. His second curse fared no better, and in seconds, the flesh was regrowing.

"Move over, Potter." Malfoy stalked closer, his smudged face twisted in hate. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry unconsciously stepped back and held his breath. The burst of emerald clashed with the scarlet for a split-second before fading. The heart kept pulsing.

Recalling Moody's lesson from years ago, he asked, "Sure you cast it right?"

Malfoy glared at him. "Positive."

"Well, you must've done something wrong, look—" Harry gestured at the demon, only to jump back when its chipped claw twitched, rattling the chains.

"If you can do better, go ahead. I doubt you're even capable of magic of this caliber." Retreating to a safer distance, Malfoy glowered at the hellspawn as though insulted by its refusal to die.

The Unspeakables converged around the demon, some reinforcing its bindings, others poking and prodding at its flesh as if they hadn't been terrified out of their wits mere minutes ago. A Patronus splashed at the heart, followed by spells Harry couldn't place. Nothing so much as dented it, and the demon was regenerating all the while.

He trudged up to Tony, who looked as knackered as he himself felt. "Reckon I'm gonna have to pull a Voldemort."

"You mean..." Tony looked up.

Spells of unnatural colors streaked at the heart. One Unspeakable got levitated up and hacked at it with a hammer and chisel until the demon contorted its neck and gored him with its horn. The poor sap screamed and vanished in a blur of a Portkey.

"Exactly," he said over the Unspeakables' agitated babble. "Only I don't fancy ending up like that bloke."

Tony shuddered. "Right. Let me handle this."

Screwing up his face, Tony thrust his wand at the smoldering grass before the demon. A large mound rose and ruptured releasing a massive snake made of grey rock.

Harry gesticulated at the Unspeakables. "Get away!"

The serpent shot up, gaining height until it was thrice as tall as a man before bending to plunge into the demon's chest. Its stony jaws creaked as they tightened around the glowing crystal; Tony's arm jerked, and with a wet tearing noise, the snake lurched back ripping it out.

A bang drowned out the rising cheers, and the snake froze mid-air, chips of rock crumbling off its surface. Harry pivoted to see Tony splayed on his back, his hair standing on end. Ozone wafted through the air.

"Damn feather hates working earth," Tony slurred, reaching for the smoking wand on the ground, only to yelp and flinch away. Staring at it ruefully, he cradled his hand. "It's been giving me trouble the entire night."

Harry shook his head as Su and a familiarly built Mediwizard rushed up to Tony. "Should've told me, mate."

"Another elixir might put him back on his feet," the Mediwizard said, "although there would be a risk of an overdose. Doe brews them strong."

"His wand's out of commission." Su crouched to press a trinket into Tony's hand. "You've done all you could."

Tony exhaled, tension leaving his body as if those were the words he'd been waiting for—which, given the wording of their Vows, might not have been far from the truth. He met Harry's eyes before the Portkey whisked him off to parts more pleasant.

"Guess it's just you and me now, Draco." Harry regarded the demon. Bereft of the heart, its chained husk was blackening and flaking like ash. "We kicked its arse good, huh?"

Malfoy pointed upward. "It's about to grow a new arse that will need kicking all over again." There, in the jaws of the stone serpent, the heart had already covered itself in a layer of fresh tissue. "And don't call me by my first name. It's creepy."

Making a mental note to do exactly that, Harry contemplated Tony's snake. He tapped its tail with his wand, charming it more malleable, then coaxed it to coil onto itself and lower its head to shoulder height.

A stalk formed on the heart's fleshy surface, and an eyeball ballooned at the end, burning crimson surrounding a vertical pupil. He derived great pleasure from impaling it with his wand.

"Merlin's beard, stop _playing_ with it," Draco said as the eyeball popped with a squelch.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm handling it." Harry reached for the ball of flesh, only to yank his hand back as a spiky tentacle pricked him. "Oh, is that how you want to play? Reducto!"

A foul-smelling goo drenched him, making him regret his choice of a spell, but the blast did expose the crystal. Battling nausea, he pressed his palm to it and took it into his malletspace. The field darkened momentarily before his glasses adjusted. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve, gagged, then siphoned the goo off with his wand.

"Well." Taking off his smudged glasses, he cleaned them too. "I believe this is it."

After a moment's silence, the Unspeakables exploded into cheers and incredulous laughter. Someone came up to clap his back, but he was blind as a mole at the moment so their identity remained a mystery.

"What did you do?"

Harry put his spectacles on, and Malfoy's grimy face sharpened. "It's obscure magic. I doubt you're capable of it."

Malfoy bristled, then shook his head. "As long as that takes care of the thing."

Su tugged on his sleeve, holding one hand against her ear. "Louse wants confirmation the threat has been neutralized."

"Sure, got the bugger right here," he said, smiling tiredly. "Tell him he can have a look if he asks nicely."

He glanced into his malletspace, only to freeze. A sphere of raw flesh pulsated in the void, roiling with undulating tentacles and swiveling eyeballs. His skin crawled as every eye turned to peer at him, their pupils narrowing in disturbing unison.

"THIS PRISON CANNOT HOLD ONE SUCH AS ME."

The tentacles billowed, making him feel as though his skull was being scraped from the inside. Shutting his mind's eye, he doubled over and retched. Every last fiber of his being screamed at him to expel the thing, but he resisted.

"Harry!" Su laid a palm on his back.

"We have a problem." His heart raced with terror and revulsion no Occlumency could keep at bay. "It's still regenerating, it's... shit, it's crawling around, staring at me! How can it do that, how the _fuck_ can it do that?"

Her eyes widened. "Perhaps, existing partly in another plane, it's not bound by the laws of ours."

"Theorize later!" He backed away, waving off Su and the other Unspeakables; Draco astutely put some distance between them himself. "I don't know what's going to happen! You guys are smart, think of something! Like, right bloody _now_!"

Su launched into a rapid-fire explanation as her colleagues congregated around her, occasionally chiming in with jargon Harry neither understood nor cared to ruminate over. As seconds ticked on, more and more wands rose to point in his direction. It was almost reassuring.

Dreading what he would see, he peered into his pocket dimension and gasped. A rawboned goat's head sneered at him, revealing a jaw of jutting teeth. The demon had transformed into a gaunt humanoid with spindly limbs that appeared too fragile to support their ten-inch claws. Behind its skinny back, a wiry tail sporting a vicious scythe whipped side to side. Its body gained substance as he looked on, and he knew it was approaching the limit of what his malletspace could hold.

For a moment, he dared hope it would be contained, but the pressure mounting in his skull and the demon's widening sneer disabused him of that notion. It intended to bust itself out, and he could only pray it wouldn't be through his chest.

"Incoming!" he yelled.

His warning wasn't a moment too soon. The pressure in his skull exploded, and slashing claws was the last thing he glimpsed in his mind's eye before he was robbed of it entirely.

Reeling, he swatted aside a pair of robes that burst into being before him and beheld the gaunt figure with his flesh-and-blood eyes. Something red fluttered above its bony shoulder, disappearing into the night sky a second later.

The demon's narrow hooves tread lightly across the grass as it tested its legs. Despite its ghoulish thinness, it stood a head above him. It turned to face him, and for an instant, neither moved.

His wand hand twitched, and the demon kicked off, closing the distance in an eyeblink. Abandoning the spell, he raised both hands to protect his throat, feeling razor-sharp claws slash his forearms. Crying out, he staggered back.

Incantations rang out, and silvery lights illuminated the surroundings. As the demon whirled toward the new threat, Harry growled and trained his wand on its back. Almost as an afterthought, its tail lashed out, slicing cleanly through his wrist. Without a backward glance, the demon sprang at the Unspeakables.

He stared aghast as his severed hand, wand and all, fell to the ground. Blood spurted out of the stump, staining the grass crimson. Pain hadn't set in yet, and as he collapsed to his knees, his first thought was, _not again_!

An agonized scream pierced the haze clouding his mind. He scrabbled for his wand, whimpering as he brushed the warm fingers of his right hand, and aimed at the stump.

"Ep-Episkey. Episkey, Episkey!"

Whether it was because of his trembling or the extent of the injury, but the spell did little to stanch the bleeding. He ended up wrapping the stump with his sleeve and binding it with a conjured cord. Blood continued to seep through, but it was the best he could do.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he poked his severed hand to take it in, but it lay obstinately on the grass. He settled for casting a food-preserving charm over it before raising his head.

A blur of claws tore through the field, leaving fountains of blood and flying limbs in its wake, the dismembered grey-robes vanishing in swooshes of Portkeys. Their remaining number fought valiantly, jumping around with cracks of Apparition, but the demon was too fast to pin down.

Harry rose an inch, only to sag again. He pocketed his wand, and clenching his jaw, braced his hand against the ground for another attempt. His palm encountered something hard and smooth, and it cracked under his weight.

Lifting the object, he recognized the acorn the dryad had given him what felt like ages ago. It had split, releasing green tendrils that writhed in his palm soaking up the blood. Not content with that meager moisture, one stabbed into his skin.

He yelped and shook it off before it could burrow deeper, catching the seed between his fingertips. Its offshoots, more sprouting by the moment, wriggled hungrily in the air. He stared at it, then at the demon.

"Oi!" he shouted, tottering toward it. "Your opponent is me!"

The demon halted in its tracks and swiveled its head his way. Its eyes narrowed. Wrenching its claws out of a partially dissected Unspeakable, it skittered toward him like a praying mantis, its elongated limbs carrying it with unnatural swiftness. Farther afield, jets of light left Su's and Malfoy's wands, but the hellspawn zigzagged, dodging them.

Harry's fist clenched around the squirming tendrils, and he bent his knees to brace for impact. The demon darted left, then right, and then it was before him, dripping with crimson blood. His stomach exploded in pain.

"_Hurk_," he said, staying on his feet solely because any movement intensified the agony. His muscles spasmed around the four razor-thin claws embedded in his abdomen.

"THE POWER YOU THREATENED ME WITH WAS A LIE." The claws sank deeper, and his consciousness wavered. "SUFFER FOR YOUR INSOLENCE, PRETENDER."

He slung his handless arm around the demon's neck in a mockery of a hug. "_Think again, fucker_."

Rearing his fist, he rammed it down its throat. Serrated teeth shredded his flesh, but he shoved the acorn in as deep as he could before yanking his hand out in a spray of blood.

The demon staggered back and ripped its claws out of his torso to scratch at its throat. Its jaw unhinged as though to roar, but only a strangled noise came as greenish tendrils slithered out and started twining around its head.

He swayed on his feet, clutching his belly with his mangled hand. His breath came in short bursts, each resulting in a wave of pain. No giving up now. He had to see this through.

Countless green shoots skewered the demon's sides, and it collapsed to its knees. As it turned its blazing eyes upon Harry, he saw one of them being devoured from the inside.

"_Warned you_," he transmitted.

Screams of rage filled his mind, fading as the demon keeled over. Its claws scraped at the ground until its arms went limp and green tendrils burst from the destroyed joints.

He squinted through blurry eyes. The demon's desiccated body disappeared under a cocoon of plant matter. Only the heart remained intact, the pulsing glow visible even through the writhing vines.

He frowned. The glow intensified with each pulse, and a malevolent screech became audible. As a trail of smoke rose from the middle of the cocoon, he pulled back in a panic. This was supposed to work. It had to.

"C'mon, stupid acorn," he said, barely moving his lips.

The glow changed from scarlet to yellow to a white so bright it hurt to look at. The tendrils around withered and combusted. Droplets of hellfire enveloped the heart, proliferating with each passing second.

The thuds of his heart were painful and loud, his blood flowing hot against his palm. He couldn't think of anything. The demon would resurrect itself and kill him—if he didn't collapse first. His gaze lifted to a pair of blurry figures racing toward him. Then it would slaughter everyone else.

All because of his bout of insanity.

His mouth twisted sardonically. It was difficult to muster up remorse when he didn't remember a thing. No, if there was something to blame himself over, it was charging in recklessly. Stupid Vow, and stupid him for taking it. Pledging his best efforts, when he had no lack of brainless ideas, had been entirely Gryffindorish.

Come to think of it, he _was_ a Gryffindor. He giggled hysterically, only to grimace and clutch his stomach. He had even hung that ridiculous certificate on his wall for a laugh.

Questing tendrils burrowed into the soil seeking nourishment, but the heat radiating off the heart charred them. Undeterred, the remaining vines threw themselves at the conflagration in their midst and turned to ash.

Never giving up was an admirable trait, but a fat lot of good it had done them.

His head shot up, causing pain to lance down his stomach. _He was a Gryffindor_. The Gringotts certificate wasn't the only proof. There had been one before it.

He stared at the heart. It was immune to magic, but then, so was basilisk hide. Almost of its own accord, his hand rose skyward. He licked his lips. The legends said the sword would appear in times of great need; he figured a demonic incursion measured pretty high on the scale.

"The—the world's in danger," he croaked.

Hellfire surged to incinerate the remnants of the greenery, then faded, leaving a scorched circle in its wake. Overgrowing flesh buried the heart's glow.

"Your descendant summons you, Sword of Gryffindor. Er... I need you, Founder's Blade. Come forth, oh legendary... legendary..." His arm drooped as his strength waned. "There's a demon that needs stabbing, and I could use some bloody help!"

His vision swam from the last-ditch effort, and he locked his knees lest he collapse where he stood. Voices were calling out to him, but his brain was too foggy to process what they were saying.

Golden flames burst overhead. A phoenix song broke through the droning in his ears, energizing his leaden limbs. Before he could so much as blink, something large and cushy flopped onto his head. He gasped.

"Goodness, you've got yourself into a right pickle this time, haven't you, Mr. Potter?" said a nostalgically familiar voice. "Well, what are you waiting for? Draw it!"

Harry winced as he was brained by something hard. He nudged up the Sorting Hat's brim and wrapped his slick fingers around a cool hilt. His hand trembled as he pulled, allowing the sword to swing down into the ground. Dragging it along, he wobbled toward the heart. It had grown an eye or ten, all of them glaring at him. The sword better pierce it, or they were doomed.

"This won't be the first demon Godric's sword has slain," the Hat said. "Finish this before you give up the ghost."

Tightening his bloody grip, he keened as he lifted the blade. It felt like minutes until its gleaming tip was poised to impale the heart. The demon was creating tiny appendages with what flesh it had at its command and wriggling away. Its howls pervaded his mind.

Inhaling against the pain, he drove the sword down with a cry. The impact jarred his arm, and for a terrible instant, he feared the Hat had been wrong; then the blade sank in with hardly any resistance, causing him to stumble.

Cracks spread from the puncture, leaking blinding scarlet light. The heart pulsed, each throb brighter than the last, until it ruptured in a retina-searing explosion. He felt weightless for a moment before darkness claimed him.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes to darkness. His head lay on something soft, and a hand was stroking his hair. A blurry person was silhouetted against the starry sky above, and as he squinted, something wet fell on his cheek. He sucked in a breath, his stomach clenching in anticipation of pain but feeling none. The cool air carried a hint of jasmine.

"Su," he said, "you crying?"

The fingers in his hair froze. "How do you feel?"

He took his time considering the question before sighing contentedly and closing his eyes. Nothing compelled him to get up, to act. "Sleepy. What happened?"

She made a noise between a laugh and a sob. "You. _You_ happened. Even though everyone said it was futile." Her legs shifted slightly underneath him. When she next spoke, her voice was steadier. "Mediwizards came after you finished it. Your friends survived."

He swallowed. "And your team?"

She stayed quiet for a while. "Thanks to Overseer controlling the Portkeys, there were no fatalities."

That was something, at least: as long as one lived, magic could heal almost any physical damage. "Was I out for long?" He patted his stomach, the bandages swathing his right hand brushing its bare skin. "Nice, I see they had time to put me back together."

She bent lower to clasp his other hand. "Not entirely," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

Furrowing his brow, he wiggled what felt like three—no, three-and-a-half digits. Well... the demon choked on them in the end.

Something buzzed at the edge of his hearing, and Su cocked her head. She muttered something, so quietly Harry thought he might have imagined it, and let go of his hand. "They want to debrief me."

"Reckon you gonna get chewed out for disobeying orders? If old Louse gives you trouble—"

Everything went black. Strands of hair tickled his face as soft lips pressed insistently to his. His eyes widened in surprise. Su drew back and eased his head off her lap. Cool metal frames slid over his temples.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he adjusted his glasses and blinked owlishly. "Su?"

She met his eyes before looking away, her cheeks tinged pink. "For luck."

"Er... not that I'm complaining, but aren't you meant to do that _before_ the big battle?"

She gave a tiny laugh. "You were the one who taught me about death flags."

He gaped at her before chuckling. "Can't believe you still remember that. Listen, um—"

"I have to go," she said, and pulled up her cowl.

He rose shakily to his feet and opened his mouth, but she Apparated before he could speak. He blinked at the spot she vanished from, then sighed. There would be time to figure this out later.

A cool breeze made him shiver and draw the tatters of his robes around him. Unspeakables spread across the field, waving their wands and taking notes and picking up samples of the omnipresent ash. Lanterns floated in the air to aid lesser beings not equipped with enchanted eyewear.

A glint of metal caught his eye, and spying a sword sticking out of scorched ground, he trudged toward it. A cowled wizard with an antique camera hanging from his neck ran up to meet him.

"Aha! Mr. Potter, what an honor, what an honor!" The Unspeakable raised his palms sheepishly to display blistered skin. "Forgive me for not shaking your hand... I'm in quite a bit of pain."

Harry glanced at the sword and made the connection. "Not a Gryffindor, I take it?" Clasping the hilt with his unbandaged hand, he pulled it out with a grunt. The gleaming steel reflected the moonlight, not a chip marring the blade.

"Remarkable, most remarkable!" The flashes from the Unspeakable's camera made Harry squinch his eyes. "Are there others who can wield it? You must bring it to Level Nine for further study!"

He eyed the sword, pondering. "I think... it belongs at Hogwarts."

The hilt seemed to grow warmer at his words. He nodded to himself. The fabled weapon had actually, unbelievably, come to his aid, and the least he could do was return it to its rightful place.

He looked around until he located the Sorting Hat in the arms of an Unspeakable. Another stood nearby cradling some kind of a fledgling chick in her palms. Harry plodded toward them. The sword weighed heavily in his mangled hand, and in an act of habit, he attempted to take it into his malletspace. Nothing. Frowning, he rested the blade flat against his shoulder.

The photographer followed at his heels. "Mr. Potter, please! The Sword of Gryffindor is a priceless artifact. If a situation like this occurs again, it could be our only weapon!"

He continued slowly but steadily toward his goal. Fragments of a conversation and pitiful cheeps carried to his ears. "Why don't you take it, then?"

The photographer spluttered. "I thought I made it clear—the reaction to my attempt was violent and not at all pleasant!"

He nodded, more convinced than ever that he was doing the right thing. "I'm sticking it up that hat, and that's that."


	10. Hangover, Part 4

Buried deep within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, the room was windowless and chilly. The only furniture was a heavy dark table with four chairs on either side. All eight were taken: four by the Ministry brass, and four by Harry and his friends.

Correction, friends and Malfoy.

The seating had been curiously mismatched, with the Ministry representatives perching their esteemed butts atop big black leather affairs, and leaving cushionless wooden chairs opposite to the guests, but Harry quickly got Tony to fix the obvious oversight. He now lounged in a plush armchair, unperturbed by the glares from across the table. The comfort had an unintended side-effect of making him drowsy, and he only half-listened as Kingsley, Robards, and Croaker took turns recounting the incident to Scrimgeour. Harry had no doubt the Minister had already been filled in privately, so the purpose of the exercise eluded him.

"In short," Croaker said, "these men nearly caused a catastrophe on a level unseen for millennia—it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it Armageddon—that was only averted by the swift action of our two departments. I consider it a miracle that we avoided casualties. As it is, some of Level Nine's best were rendered unfit for field duty."

Harry straightened in his seat. "About that—I'd be happy to chip in for their rehabilitation—"

"No need," Croaker said icily. "We take care of our own."

Taken aback, he raised his palms in a placating gesture.

Robards cleared his throat. "This does pale in comparison, but there is also the matter of Potter's flying, er..."

"Knickers," Kingsley supplied with a straight face.

Robards looked like he had bitten into a lemon. "Right. The matter of Potter's flying knickers crossing the Channel, being observed from a Muggle fishing vessel, and causing a diplomatic incident with France."

The Ministry side went silent as though daring anyone to laugh. Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he struggled not to do just that.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Scrimgeour said at length, clasping his hands atop the table. "The evidence is damning indeed, but I would hear out the culprits before I make my decision. They have, after all, taken responsibility for their blunder, as it were."

Tony piped up. "Excuse me, we were _promised_—"

Draco interjected smoothly, "I believe I speak for all of us when I say that words cannot begin to describe how deeply we regret our actions." Solemn-faced and dressed in austere robes, he was the very image of repentance. "While we don't have memories of the event, the evidence is, as you say, incontrovertible, and we have no choice but to accept full responsibility. I only hope you'll take into account that we voluntarily took Unbreakable Vows as soon as we learned of our transgression and fought with no regard for personal safety until the end."

"I agree." Cedric squirmed as three sets of eyes and one obfuscated cowl turned his way. "Um, about how much we regret it, and everything." Tugging at his collar, he took a deep breath. "To be honest, I never imagined ending up in this position—I mean, I've never so much as Apparated without a license! But if the evidence is as damning as you say, I'll do whatever I can to make up for what I did."

Tony bobbed his head. "Ditto."

"That's all well and good," Scrimgeour said, his yellowish eyes boring into them, "but the fact remains that you were involved in a demon summoning, and the laws regarding that are far from ambiguous. I'm talking about nothing less than lifetime incarceration. We would be doing more than bending the law by allowing you to walk free."

Draco spoke again. "As I recall, you're still in possession of your wartime powers, Minister. If you were to issue a pardon, there would be no doubt as to its legality." He lowered his head contritely. "I understand if you have reservations, especially given the history of some of us present here. Myself, first and foremost. But if you look past the stigma of my family name, I assure you..."

Ah, so it was time for groveling. Draco seemed to have that well in hand, so Harry tuned him out and tried to recall halfheartedly which year Scrimgeour was serving. As the Minister who took down Voldemort's puppet regime, he still enjoyed great popularity and was probably looking to spin this incident to his advantage as well. Drawing a blank, Harry reclined in his seat and yawned.

"Are we boring you, Mr. Potter?" Croaker asked.

He blinked groggily, finding himself the target of several glares. "Well..."

"Don't," Cedric hissed, gripping his sleeve.

Harry yanked it away and grinned. "Kind of, yeah. Nice of you to finally catch on."

Robards slapped his palms on the table. "And this, Minister, is a recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class! I say he face the full brunt of the law, and we come back to the case once he'd had time to reflect on his crimes."

"I concur," Croaker said. "A stay in Azkaban might provide the attitude adjustment our _hero_ sorely needs."

Harry frowned. "This has been bothering me for a while, but where's Louse? That geezer wanted to drill my forehead, and I _still_ liked him better than you."

The clump of darkness faced him. "Louse has decided to step down as the Head Unspeakable and assume a more research-oriented role. The demands of the position are proving too much for his advanced years, I'm afraid... not that the internal workings of our department should concern you."

"Oh, but they do. See, I accept that we nearly destroyed the country and all, but I get the feeling you don't like me personally. This is a—what's the word—something to do with the Down Under..." He snapped his fingers.

"Kangaroo court?" Draco said. "For the record, I recognize its legitimacy."

Harry jabbed his finger at the grey-robe. "Kangaroo court! You're not even pretending to be impartial."

Croaker snorted derisively. "How perceptive. Yes, Mr. Potter, I don't like you, and I believe few would if they could see beyond the heroic persona you cultivate. I reserved judgment after learning that the stories behind your numerous achievements were quite at odds with the hogwash you fed to the press—"

"They were told what they wanted to hear!" he exclaimed, paraphrasing Scrimgeor's words from a while back.

"—but after meeting you in person, I can safely say that my first impression was correct. You are, in fact, nothing but a puerile sybarite toying with powers beyond your ken."

Harry made a mental note to look up 'sybarite' in a dictionary as he parsed the accusation for something he could deny. "That's rich, calling _me_ puerile. You lot wear face-obscuring cowls and have 'Mysteries' in your name!"

Kingsley snorted into his fist, then tried to mask it with a cough.

Croaker bristled. "These are essential to protecting our identities. You haven't the slightest notion of the forces we defend ignoramuses like yourself from every day!"

"Easy, Croaker," Kingsley said. "He's just baiting you."

Robard's eyes glinted as he leaned forward. "Perhaps Mr. Potter needs a reminder that it is only my word as the Head Auror that keeps him and his associates from being carted off to Azkaban."

"And we're confident that you'll make the right decision," Draco said quickly.

Tony's chair scraped the floor as he sidled closer to Harry. "Mate," he whispered, "not that I disagree with the sentiment, but maybe we should let Malfoy handle this."

Harry waved him off. "Relax, they can't do shit to us. Thanks to _someone_"—he gave an exaggerated wink—"leaking the story to the press, everyone thinks we're heroes."

The Ministry side erupted in diatribes, which were difficult to understand since at least three people were talking at once. Robards unholstered his wand.

"Potter_,_ for god's sake!" Draco glanced warily across the table before leaning closer to him. "_We_ know it, _they_ know it, but you don't just say it out loud!"

He buffed his nails on his robes. "I thought it would be more expedient to lay everything on the table."

"Well, my job, reputation, and livelihood are on the line, so I'll thank you not to antagonize the people who hold our fates in their hands!"

"Have you seen today's headlines? _Saviors of the Nation. Hellspawn Falls to Britain's Heroes. _And my favorite, _Potter the Demonslayer. _We're on the front page of every paper in the country. The moment the public catches a whiff of us being tried, they'll storm the Ministry and take it apart brick by brick." He grinned when he saw the four officials listening. "So how about we just skip to the part where you let us go?"

Kingsley sighed deeply. "I say this as someone who wishes you no ill: you won't make any friends this way."

He folded his arms. "Wasn't looking to."

Scrimgeor sighed. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I know when I'm beaten."

Croaker and Robards turned to him and said in a disturbing unison, "Minister—"

"Gentlemen, please." Scrimgeor raised a palm. "The Kneazle's out of the bag, and while their attitude leaves much to be desired, these brave men played a crucial role in subduing the demon."

Producing a scroll from the inner pocket of his robes, Scrimgeour unrolled it on the table. It was a document stamped with the Ministry seal. Everyone watched with bated breath as he picked up a quill, dipped it into an inkwell, tapped the nib against the rim, and flourished his signature at the bottom. Harry patted his pockets for his wand, half-expecting Hitwizards to rush in through the sole door; after all that bluster, Scrimgeour sure appeared to give up quickly.

Scrimgeour slid the parchment across the table. "This decree clears you of any and all charges relating to the demon summoning. I'm sure my colleagues will agree that lesser crimes like the prison break you staged can be overlooked given the extent of your accomplishment."

Tony jumped up. "Yes!"

Malfoy leaned over the table, his grey eyes scanning the parchment. His lips curled into a smile before he schooled his face into a polite mask and drew back.

"Then—then we're free to go, Minister Scrimgeour?" Cedric asked, sounding like he hardly believed it.

"Not only that, Mr. Diggory, but you should expect an owl regarding your Order of Merlin in the coming days. I believe that rather than downplay your deed, the Ministry should make certain it receives every bit of recognition it deserves." A leonine smile spread across Scrimgeour's ascetic face. "Since a person cannot receive the Order twice, we will come up with something even better for Mr. Potter."

Harry exhaled in relief. There was something off about Scrimgeor's smile, but after hours of tedium, he couldn't bring himself to care. "Cheers, Rufus. Lads, I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's grab a bite and a pint on the Muggle side, my treat."

"I'm in," Tony said. Free food was involved, so no surprise there.

"Not me," Cedric said. "I have to tell my wife the good news."

"Man, she clearly has the longer wand between you two," Harry said as he headed for the door.

Cedric paused mid-step. "She does, now that I think of it. What does that have to do with anything?"

Shaking his head ruefully, he patted Cedric's shoulder.

* * *

You could hear a pin drop in the jam-packed Three Broomsticks when Harry paused his story for dramatic effect. Shifting on the chair he stood on, he raised his hands, a glove covering his left, as though clutching the hilt of a sword.

"And then," he said, miming a broad sweep, "I swung my sword, and lopped off the foul demon's head in a single stroke!"

Cheers erupted, and cameras flashed in the crowd. Some of the more inebriated patrons banged their tables and stamped their feet. When Harry climbed off the chair, he was surrounded by admirers clamoring for a handshake, a kiss, or simply an instant of being in his presence. At a nearby table, Tony and Malfoy were likewise basking in adoration. Only Cedric wasn't present, having begged off on the account of Quidditch training. The chump wasn't fooling anyone with that excuse.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter!" A starry-eyed witch in a Hogwarts uniform elbowed her way through the throng. "Won't you please sign this for me?" She held up a poster of him in Gladrags dueling robes that promised 'demonic performance' to anyone who purchased them.

"Why, certainly." Producing a Self-Inking Quill he kept on hand these days, he scribbled his signature in the corner and handed the poster back with a wink.

"Oh, thank you _so much_," the witch gushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been a fan for years, ever since—" Her gaze darted over his shoulder, and her expression fell. "I—I'll be going now. Thanks again!"

Harry swiveled around to find Su glowering at the fangirl's retreating back. He smiled widely. The Unspeakables were up to their ears in dealing with the fallout, so he hadn't seen her beyond running into her at the Ministry once.

"Hey, you made it!" Schooling his face into a stern expression, he leaned closer to be heard over the din. "That was rude, by the way."

"She was underage," she murmured, pink tinging her cheeks.

Gasping, he placed a hand over his chest. "To imply that a man of upstanding reputation and morals like myself would lay a finger on a naive little schoolgirl! You wound me."

The corners of her lips twitched. "Shall I make it up for you?"

He grinned. "And how are you going to do that?"

She inched closer and peered up at him. "You tell me."

"I could think of a few ways." He leered, eyeing her slim figure. It was nice to see her out of uniform and in sleek casual robes.

Her dark eyes glinted. "Like?"

"Er—you know." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She quirked an eyebrow, not a hint of amusement on her face.

Had he gone too far? He rubbed the back of his neck. After all these years, he still couldn't read her. "Um, bad joke. Can we pretend I never said that?"

Turning away, she shot him an impish smile over her shoulder. "Pity."

His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. She melted into the crowd. He gave chase, only to bump into a rotund wizard in colorful honeycomb robes that made his eyes swim. No, wait, the pattern was actually moving.

Blinking, he attempted to circumnavigate the man's immense girth. "'Scuse me."

The wizard gripped his upper arm. Harry came close to shrugging it off before recognizing Horace Slughorn: out of breath, beaming, portly face flushed with drink.

"My word, Harry, it's never a dull moment with you. I knew you'd go far, but not even I imagined you slaying demons!"

He plastered a polite smile on his face. "It's been a while, professor. How are you?"

"Horace, please, my boy! I haven't been your professor for years. Truth be told, I was just speaking with your fellow alumni, one Cormac McLaggen. A bright young man, doing very well for himself as a saleswizard at Fairywells."

"Oh yeah?" he said noncommittally as he scanned the crowd for a raven-black ponytail.

"It's lucky I ran into you—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you ran into me. I told Cormac I'd put in a good word for him with you. He has a business proposition, see."

Harry gave him a distracted look. "Who?"

Slughorn chuckled. "Dear me, I see I'm not the only one indulging in drink tonight. Focus, lad, focus! It's Cormac McLaggen, the rising star of the Fairywells company—he wants to speak with you about those Harry Potter figurines from a couple years back."

Perking up, he fully faced Horace. He had made a pretty Knut selling those after Voldemort's defeat. "What did he want?"

Slughorn's eyes gleamed. "Well—I wouldn't presume to speak for the man. Shall we?"

Casting a last wistful look over the crowd, Harry allowed himself to be ushered away. Slughorn huffed and puffed as he bulled his way through to a corner, where a vaguely familiar blond bloke in robes that resembled a Muggle suit lounged against the wall. At their approach, he sprang up, flashed Harry a blinding smile, and pumped his hand.

"Harry, looking good, old boy! It's been far too long. When was it—back when we fought those knobheads at Hogwarts?"

"Er," Harry said, furrowing his brows, "did you even _do_ any fight—"

"Good times, good times," Cormac said, his smile not wavering. "Listen, you must be busy, so I'll cut to the chase. Ever think of going international with those figurines of yours?"

"International?" He snorted. "Barely anyone's heard of Voldemort—and by extension of me—outside Britain."

Slughorn shuddered at the name, causing his eye-watering robes to ripple.

"Voldemort's ancient history," Cormac said, waving dismissively. "News has broken over the continent about you offing a demon—we have a unique window of opportunity to hit the pitch flying! Let us develop your brand. No point in trying to boil the ocean by yourself, right?"

Harry glanced helplessly at Slughorn, who smiled and mouthed, "Rising star!" He turned back to Cormac. "Just so we're clear... You're talking about selling my figurines?"

"You bet I'm talking about selling them," Cormac cried. "Good lord, man, keep up! I'm talking about leveraging Fairywells' core competencies to penetrate those foreign markets!"

Harry snickered.

Cormac took that as an invitation to drape an arm over his shoulder. "He gets it! We'll do a seeding trial down in France, run it up the flagpole, then scale up going forward. We're going to be minting money!"

Harry abandoned his attempts to escape Cormac's grip and gave him a considering look. "For real?"

"'For real', he asks." Cormac sent Slughorn a look of mock exasperation. "What do you think I do all day, yank my wand? I can already smell the dosh, mate! We'll get your specky mug into every toy shop from here to Belgium!"

"Yeah... _Yeah_." He stared at the worn timbers of the pub's walls and instead saw piles upon piles of gold coins. "A figure of me, beheading the demon and striking a heroic pose—"

"No, see, the brats would love that, but their mothers would never buy it," Cormac said, drawing back. "Wand instead of sword, no blood... maybe fairy dust or sweets..."

He frowned. "_Sweets_?"

"Little Harry aims at big bad demon, says Hokus Pokus, and it explodes into candy," Cormac said, snapping his fingers. "A collaboration with Honeydukes... Demonic Drops—Hellspawn Hots—they will be exclusive to our product! Boom, cross-promotion!" He pumped his arm. "Am I a genius or what?"

"Dunno... That's kinda tacky."

"You've got to keep the target market in mind." Cormac looked around as though seeking support before leaning closer. "Look, mate, I'm talking thousands of G as a ballpark figure. Just put down your signature, and we'll get the Quaffle rolling. What do you say?"

"Thousands?" He swallowed, considered Cormac's shark-like grin, then smiled in response. "_That_ I can get behind."

"That's my man," Cormac roared, slapping him on the back. "That's my man, Sluggy, right here! How about we meet next week to get our Snidgets in a row? Our bean-counters will crunch the numbers and draw up a preliminary contract."

"Uh, sure," he said, making a mental note to get one of the Weasley twins to translate for him.

Cormac went for an elaborate handshake; Harry somehow managed to follow along until completely fumbling it five motions in. Not to be deterred, Cormac stepped back and made finger wands at him. "Owl me if you need to touch base. Let's make some dough!" He then pointed at Slughorn, who awkwardly yet enthusiastically returned the gesture. "Always a pleasure, Sluggy."

"A productive meeting, wouldn't you say, Harry?" Slughorn said after Cormac vanished with a _crack_.

"Yeah," he said, a little overwhelmed. Now _that_ was a bloke who loved his job. "Cheers, prof—Horace. I'll see you later, alright? About to have a get-together with friends."

"Anytime, Harry, my door's always open for you," Slughorn said, shaking his hand.

Harry rejoined the crowd feeling a great deal better about his financial future. Accolades were nice, but they didn't put bread on the table nor buy expensive merch. He would have to remember to send 'Sluggy' a hoarded bottle of Slovak mead as thanks.

He mingled with the patrons as he drifted toward the bar. Before reaching his destination, he signed three posters and two body parts, shook a dozen hands, and got his handkerchief stolen by a crazy fan who promptly Apparated away. Par for the course.

Madam Rosmerta was a whirlwind as she served drinks left and right, but upon spying him, she dropped what she was doing and approached with a smile.

"Evening, Rosmerta," he said. "Sorry about the commotion—even I didn't expect a turnout like this."

"Oh no, don't apologize," she said, swatting his shoulder. "I ought to be thanking you. The girls might whinge about being overworked, but they'll change their tune once they count the Sickles in their pockets." She glanced down at her wristwatch. "Your room's the first on the left, dear. I'll make sure you're not bothered."

Nodding gratefully, he began elbowing his way toward the stairs in the back. After surmounting about two yards in as many minutes, he sighed, and shrugging off the paws of the people around, Apparated onto the staircase. Many in the crowd turned at the noise.

He waved. "Thanks for coming, everyone! Look forward to awesome Demonslayer figurines coming out soon!"

Smiling at the chorus of groans and calls to stay, he ascended to the second floor and opened the first door. The private room was dim and cozy, and despite the crackling fireplace, pleasantly cool. Empty chairs surrounded an oval table in the middle. He leaned in the doorway and waited.

Tony popped in clutching a tankard in each hand and yelped as his drinks sloshed over the rims. Su traipsed up the stairs with Hermione in tow. Harry tried to catch her eye, but by the time he exchanged greetings with Hermione, she had slipped inside.

Draco also opted for the long route, pausing to wave every few steps and grinning smugly at the resulting cheers. Arriving on the second floor, he nodded amiably at Harry.

He barred the doorway with his arm. "Whoa, who invited _you_?"

Malfoy gave him an uncertain look before bristling. "You did, Potter, and I agreed against my better judgment. If you'd rather I leave..."

Snorting, he lowered his arm. "Just fucking with you, Draco. Get in there."

Malfoy glared, but entered, pausing just inside the threshold to consider the seating arrangement. Harry shut the door, drowning out the noise from downstairs, and appropriated a chair beside Tony. This left only one vacant seat next to Hermione, which Malfoy took with obvious reluctance. It was hard to blame him, for it had taken Harry himself some time to get used to the blue pixie cut and cat-eye glasses she sported these days.

A maid ducked into the room hauling a tray of drinks and snacks. He accepted his beer with a nod and took a long swig. As fun as it had been, recounting his heroics had left him with a parched throat.

Having distributed the drinks, the maid lingered at the door. "If you need anything else, anything at all..." She batted her lashes at Harry.

"Nothing for now, cheers," he said with a smile. He kept it up until the door closed, then sighed good-naturedly. His experience told him the furor would die down soon, at least to the point where he could make a public appearance without causing a commotion.

He regarded the gathered over the top of his glass. The Demonslayers, minus Cedric; Hermione, who had made time despite working on her bachelor's thesis; Su, who's role in the events remained unknown to the public. They were just missing Padma, who was traveling in Bolivia on behalf of her parents' company. It was morbidly amusing to think that she might have returned home to a burning wasteland.

Su sent him a coy glance before becoming very interested in her Gillywater. He hid his grin in his glass. To her right, Hermione was talking Malfoy's ear off. Harry tuned in, thinking that the conversation was bound to be amusing.

"...ability to shape its body as it pleases has enormous implications. Unlike ours, their society must be entirely free of gender roles! The biological aspects are no less fascinating. One has to wonder if they procreate at all, or simply spawn from clumps of negative energy like the Dementors..."

The glassy look that had been settling into Draco's eyes vanished. "Good god, woman! I don't know anything about their breeding habits nor I care to. In case you missed it, the thing was hell-bent on killing us until Potter killed it right back." He adjusted his lapels. "With plenty of help, mind."

"_Well_." Huffing, Hermione turned away. "About that—there's something missing from your story, Harry. You said you decapitated the demon with the Sword of Gryffindor, but how did it get all the way down to South England? Su mentioned—"

"Don't say it," he pleaded, putting a hand up.

Hermione frowned. "Don't say what? Was there really a phoenix?"

Groaning, he slid his glass aside so he could bash his head on the table. Hard surface (ouch). Cold beer. Timber walls. Crackling fireplace—_blast it_.

Flames burst overhead, and a warm weight settled on his shoulder, eliciting gasps. He sullenly eyed the red-and-gold bird. With its feathers not yet grown in, it was looking scruffy and not at all dignified.

"Happy now? This bloody turkey is somehow reading my mind. Every time I think of anything remotely to do with fire, it takes that as an invitation to flash over."

"Y-you're saying..." Hermione goggled. "It became your familiar! Harry, being chosen by a phoenix is the highest honor!"

"Honor, shmonor. It's just an obnoxiously garish bird." He picked the phoenix off his shoulder, causing it to squawk and kick, and extended it across the table. "Here, you can have it if you want."

A hush fell. The phoenix settled down and cocked its head to peer at Hermione with a beady eye. When she reached to caress its brilliantly plumaged crest, it warbled and tilted its head back. Harry couldn't help but snort at her peeved expression.

"Not very friendly, is it?" she said, withdrawing her hand.

Su's hand that also had been stretching toward the phoenix stilled. She worried her lip, a yearning look in her eyes, before timidly touching its wing. Her lips parted in wonder as her fingertips brushed its warm feathers.

Hermione pursed her lips and tapped a painted fingernail on the table.

The bird endured Su's attentions for a few moments, then wriggled free of Harry's grip and hopped over to rub its head against his shirt. When he sighed and gently pushed it away, it took that as an invitation to bunt his palm. Adoring _aww_s came from the witches.

He glared at his alleged familiar. "I know what you're doing, and it won't work." Alas, all his stern tone accomplished was making the bird tilt its head and coo as if in puzzlement.

"This is unreal," Draco said. "A creature of myth, and it chose this buffoon for its master."

Harry flipped him off. "Like I told Hermione, you're welcome to it."

"I have my hands full with father's peacocks," Draco said. "Now _those_ are majestic creatures."

He snorted and took a sip of his beer. The phoenix waddled down the table craning its neck at the snacks. It pecked at a slice of cheese, then squawked and shook its head to dislodge it from its beak. Upon discovering a bowl of chili peanuts, it trilled happily and proceeded to help itself to them.

Hermione leaned closer to scrutinize its plumage. "Is it the same one as Dumbledore's?"

"Nah." He wasn't sure how, but he was certain he was right. "This one's really young, and kind of dumb to boot. Came as a package deal with the sword, I suspect, but don't ask me how that works."

As though to prove his point, the bird sneezed violently, flapping its wings and scattering chili powder everywhere. He buried his face in his palms. What had he done to deserve this?

"You know, they say phoenixes bond for life," Tony said helpfully.

He groaned. "At least no one can ever call me Dark now. I could probably stroll down the Diagon Alley throwing Cruciatus Curses like it's going out of style and get a free pass. Reckon that's the biggest reason Dumbledore kept his around."

Malfoy grimaced. "Dumbledore was no paragon of virtue they made him out to be, that's for certain. Perhaps the phoenixes' reputation for picking exemplary masters is undeserved."

He crossed his arms. "Hey, I'm plenty exemplary."

"_Very_ deep down," Su said to a round of chuckles. She covered her smile with a hand when he sent her a mock glare.

Hermione harrumphed. "You're taking this too lightly. It's not every day that a legendary being finds someone worthy to follow." She conveniently didn't mention that the being was currently covered beak to talon in red powder and did not look very legendary at all. "Does it have a name? You can't keep treating it like some common animal."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose I should give it one. Er, let's see..."

"You're going to name it right now?" Hermione wrung her hands. "Harry, wait—this is a momentous occasion, there hasn't been a phoenix in Britain since Dumbledore's—you have to really put some thought into this. Oh, I wish I brought my copy of Cadmus's _Cognomen Compendium_, it's always so snooty, but I'm sure it would've suggested something befitting a—"

He snapped his fingers. "Firo."

Hermione got red in the face. "You can't just take 'fire' and change one letter—"

"Hey, my pet, my rules. Firo it is." The pet in question continued scarfing down peanuts without any acknowledgment. "Don't worry, there's deep symbolism behind the name. No, really. It means she's destined to transform into a cute girl."

"Transform into... _What_?" Hermione appeared to be hyperventilating. Su silently filled a glass with conjured water and handed it to her.

Tony eyed the newly christened Firo with a grin. "One can only hope."

Harry pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at Tony. "Keep your paws off the bird, man. I'm watching you."

As Tony sputtered indignantly, Harry stuck his left hand under the table to adjust his slipping glove. He cast his gaze around as he absently scratched the baby-sized fingers growing at the end of the stubs. Strangers thought the glove was for vanity, which suited him just fine, but friends deserved to know. Perhaps even Malfoy did.

Leaning forward, he wagged his eyebrows. "Hey guys, wanna see something freaky?"


	11. Obligatory Bath Chapter

"Specimen zero-two-eight," Su said in a monotone. "One ounce of antimony regulus."

Harry touched his fingertip to a lustrous silvery pellet atop the desk and attempted to take it into his malletspace. A jolt like those that wake one up at night shot through him, but the pellet refused to vanish. He grimaced.

Su's gloved fingers formed a sideways 'V' before the shadows hiding her face. "Negative."

Slumping in his chair, he cast his gaze around the spartan office. She had convinced him to employ the Department of Mysteries' expertise to restore his malletspace, but so far they hadn't even figured out what damage the demon had caused. As much as he wanted his power back—and as much as he preferred to be experimented on by Su instead of some creepy geezer—his patience was running thin.

"This isn't working. How much 'data collection' do we have to do before you admit it's pointless?"

"There's an order to these things." Plucking the pellet off the desk, Su deposited it into a labeled compartment inside a glass case. Her gloved hand hovered over a similar nugget next to it before moving on. "Let's skip Tellurium**.**"

He drummed his fingers against the desktop. "Can't we skip the whole thing and go straight to the fun part? This place is full of freaky arcane stuff, yet here I am poking pebbles."

Her darkness-shrouded cowl faced him. The sight had long since ceased being unnerving, so he merely offered her an unapologetic shrug.

She turned to a quill that was hovering over a self-unrolling parchment. "Subject uncooperative. Terminating session."

The quill scribbled the words and lay down. At a tap of Su's wand, the parchment folded into an airplane and glided toward the door.

"That makes me sound like a tosser."

She cocked her head at him.

He raised his hands. "Okay, maybe I was being one. Just a little."

She inclined her head ever so slightly.

Snorting, he linked his hands and stretched them above his head. "What now, _Fennec_? Is your poor test subject allowed to go?"

"Unspeakables don't give up." She closed her sample case and put it away in a heavy cabinet against the wall.

He swiveled on his chair to face her. "Are we finally going to try something different?"

Making a noise of confirmation, she approached him until the toes of their shoes touched. "The fun part."

He tilted his head back to look her in the eye—or the shadowy cowl, as it were. "Which is..."

She leaned in to whisper. "Consulting someone who knew Britain's best runescribes."

His nostrils flared as he caught a whiff of her perfume. It took him several seconds to figure out who she meant. What the heck, he was no longer a schoolboy to get flustered like this. "Right! She even remembers the Found—"

Her finger pressed against his lips, making him go cross-eyed. With her other hand, she gestured covertly at the ceiling.

His eyes widened, and he nodded. Him and his big mouth. If the Unspeakables caught wind of Hogwarts's personification, they would no doubt descend upon the castle with drills in hand.

Su pulled away, strode to the door, and cracked it open to let out the airplane that had been bumping against it. He made sure the faded ritual schematic was in his pocket and rose to his feet. With memories that spanned centuries, perhaps Hogwarts would be able to make sense of it.

* * *

A root sticking out of the roof of the tunnel bumped against Harry's forehead. He brushed off the streak of dirt it had left and hunched lower. Su walked ahead with her back straight and her wand raised to light the way. Sneaking in through the secret passage had been an unspoken decision: McGonagall wouldn't have left him unsupervised, and the fewer people saw an Unspeakable strolling into Hogwarts, the better.

His gaze strayed to Su's backside, cruelly concealed by shapeless grey robes. Another root whacked him across the face, and he swore under his breath.

"Do you have to wear your uniform?" he asked, adjusting his askew glasses. "It's not like your identity needs protection from me."

She continued walking without a backward glance. "I'm still on the clock."

"Is that just protocol, or will they know if you take it off?" His eyebrows rose when she only made a noncommittal noise. "Don't tell me you actually can't talk about it. I warned you about that place."

Her cowl swished his way. "I like it."

"Fair enough," he muttered, turning sideways to squeeze through the narrowing tunnel. Passing the worst stretch, he dusted off his robes and caught up to Su, who had slowed considerately.

"When did you visit last?" she asked over her shoulder.

He _hmm_ed. "Not since before the, uh, incident."

"The one where you summoned an extraplanar monstrosity that nearly devastated the world?"

He glared at her back. "You know perfectly well that's the one. Man, will you ever let me live it down? Everyone does stupid things while drunk."

"Just clarifying." He had a hunch she was smiling. "You should come by more often."

"Why's that?"

"H sulked the whole time you were off 'fostering interspecies relations'." The light wavered as she employed her wand to repair a crumbling wall. "How did that go, by the way?"

Had he really put that in his note? He had to learn to phrase things better. "Um, swimmingly. Fostered a lot of relations. Yeah."

"Slovakia, wasn't it? There was news of a major blow dealt to a crime syndicate. Apparently, they were after a harpy egg."

"Huh. Eastern Europe sure is a dangerous place." He kept a poker face when she glanced back at him. "Tony and I were just touristing, so I wouldn't know anything about crime syndicates."

She stared for a few seconds, then faced forward. "As long as you're alright."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He tugged at his collar as he watched her retreating back, then hastened after her. She couldn't have known, right? Tony and he had sworn not to babble for the safety of the tribe. The tribe that now included their offspring.

He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. Must be getting out of shape.

Lost in thought, he bumped into Su and murmured an apology. The tunnel ended in a steep stone slide. He stooped to offer her a leg up and boosted her up the slide with a grunt. A grinding noise came, then a dim light. He wedged his fingertips into the gaps in the stonework and clambered up. His shoulders barely fit through. Had it always been this cramped?

Slipping out of the hump of the one-eyed witch, he landed in the third-floor corridor to witness Su rake her fingers over herself as though pulling on a cloak. Color stained her grey robes, mimicking the texture of the walls and melding her with the surroundings.

He whistled. "That's nifty."

Fishing out his wand—really, pockets were for plebeians—he tapped the crown of his head and watched himself become see-through. He started toward a tapestry that hid a passage leading two floors up, then glanced at Su.

Who was, of course, effectively invisible.

"Er," he said, "we didn't quite think this through, did we?"

"Give me your hand."

He squinted. No telltale shimmer betrayed her location, but because they stood before a window, he could see a gap in the sunlit dust motes. A disturbance rippled through them as she presumably extended her hand. He reached for it, but his fingers instead brushed the coarse fabric of her robes. Not to be deterred, he blindly felt around.

"Sorry," he said, his lips curving up, "it's so difficult when you can't see—"

Her finger jabbed him in the ribs, causing him to clutch his side. "So it is."

"Peace," he wheezed and raised his hands in capitulation.

Her hand unerringly found his left, and she pulled him toward the main staircase. He glanced back at the tapestry, then sighed and fell in step.

"You could've just followed me," he said. "That cowl lets you see auras, right?"

"Those can get intense."

"Ah," he said, recalling her reaction to his robes. "Hogwarts must be overwhelming."

"Yet spectacular."

Not for the first time, he found himself envious. The aura-reading enchantment documented by Curse-Breakers required such an obscene number of runes that he had long given up on carving them on his sleek spectacles.

As they continued down the corridor, Su began tracing his fingers with her own, base to tip, from one to the next. He looked askance in her direction.

Her fingers stilled abruptly. "It's incredible."

"Huh? Oh." He wiggled his fingers, whole and unscarred. The Philosopher's Stone had left a bigger mark on him than he had suspected. "Yeah, it's good to have the whole set again. Typing with just three of them _sucked_."

She gave his hand a light squeeze. "Sorry for your suffering."

He flashed her chameleonic silhouette a grin. "At least you understand! Sirius thought I was upset because I couldn't use that hand to—er, never mind."

They arrived at the staircase and began a long climb. The classes were over, so no crowds trooped from one floor to another, but some duos and trios meandered about, complaining about unfair professors or speculating who was going out with who.

His gaze lingered nostalgically on a pair of Ravenclaws, who had their noses buried in books as they walked. A group of Gryffindors trailing behind exchanged elbow nudges and pointed their wands at the pair. He swiftly drew his and tied together the shoelaces of the boy in the lead, who yelped and fell, much to the amusement of his comrades.

"I've been hexed!" cried the red-faced boy. "Look, you daft gits!" He gestured at his shoes.

Harry untied the shoelaces with another colorless charm and snickered when the boy's assertions were met with more laughter. Su heaved a tiny sigh, and giving the commotion a wide berth, dragged him upstairs.

When they came up to the sixth floor, the staircase swiveled with a grinding noise and connected to a landing leading to the Astronomy Tower.

He tugged Su's hand. "Come on, there's a staircase behind the statue of that Ainsley bloke."

She preceded him into the corridor. "I _was_ a prefect."

"Trust me, I remember. I'm still miffed you never told me the password to the prefects' bathroom after Flitwick took away my badge."

"You'd have been disappointed. The steam and the bubbles are enchanted to censor."

He halted in his tracks. "What, they get in the way if you try to get an eyeful? Seriously?"

Su sighed. "_Every time_."

"That's... that's just evil." His eyes narrowed. "And you never thought to tell me this? For years, I thought I was one measly passphrase away from that soapy, luscious, mixed-gender heaven!"

Her laughter tinkled in the air. "I didn't want to ruin your fantasy."

"Cheers," he said flatly, resuming walking. "At least I wasn't missing out on much, I guess."

They rounded a corner and entered a deserted corridor. A statue of an elderly wizard leaning on a staff loomed at its end. Harry hummed as he tried to recall the faces of the other female prefects during the last years of his tuition, then turned to Su.

"If you know that, you must've tried to get a peek or two, right?" He grinned widely. "Maybe checked out your fellow prefects while soaking in a bath together? Bet that steam doesn't cover everything."

She made a thoughtful noise. "I could tell that Cedric had a fine arse, and—"

"Okay, whoa, too much information! Forget I asked."

She laughed again, and letting go of his hand, hurried to the statue. Wood tapped stone, and her voice said, "_Audentes fortuna iuvat_."

The statue contorted into a creaking bow and shuffled aside. The stonework behind split into a gloomy passage, and a damp draft rustled the hems of their robes. Before they could step inside, brisk footsteps echoed, and a black-robed figure emerged from the passage.

There was a dull _thump_, then a distressed oath. The newcomer backpedaled and caught herself against the jamb. Her uniform, slightly overlarge for her lanky frame, was adorned with a silvery badge.

"Who's there?" she demanded, whipping out her wand. "Show yourself! Homenum—"

"No need." Su's figure shimmered into view. Her voice was slightly nasal, and her left hand was up in her cowl.

The prefect gaped, then hesitantly lowered her wand. An Unspeakable? Why are you here?"

Su straightened up, causing the prefect to take a step back. "A mission. Your discretion would be appreciated."

"How do I know you're for real?" Tapping her wand against her thigh, the prefect peered at her suspiciously. "What's the mission?"

Su's cowl turned to where Harry had flattened himself against the wall. "Extermination."

The prefect's eyes widened. "_Extermination_?"

She nodded. "Of a lecherous poltergeist."

The prefect's brow knitted. "You don't mean Peeves, do you? Professor Sinistra hasn't said a word about this..."

Taking that as his cue, he held his breath and crept up to the witch. Inches away, he sniffed loudly. "You smell _good._"

The prefect squeaked and flailed her arms. Narrowly avoiding her long nails, he retreated a few steps and made a loud slurping noise.

Su clicked her tongue. "It's taken a liking to you. Get some salt and throw it over your shoulder."

Pivoting in place with her wand raised, the prefect spared her a glance. "What? I never heard of such magic—"

Harry twirled his wand, producing a chilly breeze that swept down the corridor whipping the witches' robes about their calves.

"_Nice knickers_." He cackled lecherously.

Shrieking, the prefect pressed her fluttering skirt down and fled behind a corner. He lowered his wand.

Su shuddered theatrically. "Exceedingly creepy."

He sent her a dubious glance. "It was your idea."

"I didn't expect you to traumatize the poor girl."

"Oh, be quiet," he grumbled. "She's probably ransacking the kitchens for salt because of you right now. Oi, you just laughed, didn't you? Don't try to hide it, I heard you."

Su tugged on her cowl and stepped into the dark passage. "She bumped my nose."

"So a little owie warrants the abuse of your authority?" He shrugged as she glanced back at him. "Don't get me wrong, I'd do the same. There has to be _some_ benefit to slaving away under a bunch of crackpots."

"We're doing important work," she said, conspicuously not jumping to the defense of her bosses.

Snorting, he followed her up the narrow stairs. The height of the staircase seemed significantly lower than the distance between the floors, but that was Hogwarts for you.

Light bathed the staircase as Su opened the exit. Sticking her head through, she looked both ways before stepping out. She hadn't camouflaged herself again, perhaps secure in her knowledge that there were no portraits on the seventh floor besides Barnabas the Barmy, who wasn't much for talking. Trailing her, Harry pondered the morality of painting someone semi-sentient, only to subject them to being clobbered by trolls for eternity.

They were halfway down the corridor when a thundering voice made them freeze. "Halt! Halt and name thyself! Why you be sneaking around with your face hidden like a rogue?"

He groaned. Sure, there were no local portraits, but the more colorful characters had a habit of touring around the castle. Canceling his Disillusionment, he gently nudged down the wand Su had raised at the tapestry.

"Peace, Cadogan. She's with me."

The knight leaned precariously off his saddle to get a better look at him. "I'll be! Well met, young sorcerer. Your victory over Voldemort was all the talk among us, but you never once came to see me."

He shrugged. "Sorry, I guess."

With a jangle of his plate armor, Cadogan raised a hand. "Never mind, never mind, I expect a hero has more important matters to attend to. But pray tell, did you distract that cur afore letting him taste your blade like I taught you?"

He blinked, then laughed. "I... kind of did, come to think of it. Solid advice, sir knight, thank you."

"Gets them every time!" Cadogan thundered. "Now, I must bid you farewell. My own battle awaits!" Saluting, he nudged his pony with his heels and trotted off.

Su watched him ride off through the tapestries, then slowly turned toward Harry.

"Man talk," he said. "You wouldn't understand."

He instantly regretted his quip when she drew her wand and flicked it in his direction, but no hex flew at him. Voices echoed behind, and glancing back, he saw a translucent film stretch across the corridor.

"Ah... concealment? Good call." Tittering, he scurried past her and toward the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

Passing the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, inside which Sir Cadogan charged the trolls with an enthusiastic cry of "Have at thee!", he paced back and forth. A familiar wooden door shimmered into being, but when he turned the handle, it didn't budge.

"Hogwarts?" He rapped his knuckles against the door, then glanced over his shoulder. A gaggle of upper-years appeared at the turn of the corridor but showed no sign of seeing him or Su. When she glanced his way, he shrugged and gestured at the door.

Seconds ticked on. Jostling and laughing, the upper-years ambled toward the filmy boundary. Su backtracked toward him and weaved another charm before the gaggle crossed the first, causing it to vanish without a trace.

Shifting on his feet, he raised his hand again, but the door abruptly swung inward revealing Hogwarts against the backdrop of her quarters. His eyebrows shot up. Gone were her customary black robes, replaced by a cream sundress that contrasted with her ebony hair. Her violet eyes appeared larger, and her crimson lips stood out against her pale skin.

"Hi," she said breathlessly. Her gaze darted over his shoulder, and the smile she had been wearing wavered. "Oh! Hello, Su."

"Good to see you, H," Su said, striding up. "May we?"

She nodded and held the door open as they filed inside. Harry surveyed the wood-paneled foyer. After getting the hang of it, Hogwarts had remodeled her original quarters by creating a living room and moving her bedroom deeper in, and each time he dropped by, there was something new in the decor.

Su threw back her cowl and opened her arms for a hug, which H gave after a beat. They were almost the same height now, and he fully expected Hogwarts to overtake Su in a couple years—although that wasn't saying much.

Su drew back and scrutinized her face. "Your lipstick's smudged."

"It is?" Her eyes met his over Su's shoulder, and she averted her gaze. "It's of no consequence... I was just toying around."

Su produced a powder-blue handkerchief and dabbed at a corner of H's lips. Stepping back, she considered the adjustment and nodded.

"Thanks," Hogwarts said, blushing. "I didn't, um, expect you today."

Su pouted. "Would you rather Harry came alone?"

"D-don't be absurd! I was only surprised because I didn't sense you at the door. Come in." She glanced at Harry. "You too, I suppose."

They followed their host into the living room, where she seated them at a round table next to a window overlooking the grounds. Draping her long tresses over the back of the chair, she joined them at the table.

"What brings you here together?" H shifted in her chair. "I mean, what brings you here at all? I don't care that you're—have some tea!" At a forceful clap of her hands, three steaming teacups appeared.

Su picked hers up, took a sip, and nodded subtly. "We need your expertise."

Her face lit up. "I always knew you were the smartest of the bunch. Just for recognizing my immense wisdom, I'll help you out."

At Su's prompting glance, Harry retrieved the yellowing parchment from his pocket and slid it across the table. "We're trying to make sense of the ritual I cooked up back in my fifth year. You up for it, H?"

Carefully avoiding his fingers, she took it. "I can draw on thousands of NEWT-level lectures by the most talented runescribes in history. Whatever your woeful intellect came up with won't be a challenge." Her brows drew together as she skimmed the parchment. "Although deciphering your horrible handwriting might be."

He chuckled at seeing Hogwarts back in her groove. Lifting his cup, he savored the fragrant tea and watched her study the schematic. More than once, her eyes glazed over in a look that meant she was delving into her deeper memories, too vast for her human-like mind to process at once.

"This part here," she said at length, making him and Su sit up attentively. "It appears to be an atypical variant of the Animagus reversal spell."

He tried not to show his disappointment. "Yeah, we figured it was responsible for taking whatever I touched inside. That bit seems functional, but it's like the stuff doesn't have anywhere to go, so it's the dimensional thingamajig we need to work on."

Su set her cup down. "We need to isolate the part that defines the dimensional pocket and repurpose it to restore its original state."

He frowned. "That's what I said."

H nodded slowly. "I don't recall any other ritual that can modify Animagus forms, so short of starting from scratch, that _is_ the only way." Biting her nail, she studied the parchment. "Spatial magic, on top of everything. How could a schematic of barely a hundred clusters have done so much?"

"Iteration," Su said.

H raised her head to stare, then went back to poring over the schematic.

"Take your time," Harry said smugly.

She scowled but didn't look up. It was several minutes later (much faster than he had caught on, to his chagrin) that she gasped. "The connections loop—the segments are invoked multiple times, and from different directions, no less! This cluster here... It could be read as 'bind that within Man to that within Circle', but reverse it and you get... _creation_, _link_, _consciousness_..."

"Open Link, beget Awareness," he murmured. Su sent him an inquisitive look, but he wasn't sure where the words had come from.

H traced the parchment with her finger. "And then it loops back _again_, joining these two clusters and giving them a different meaning still! It's..."

He grinned. "Brilliant? I was strapped for time so I had to improvise." Or so he imagined, anyway.

She slapped the parchment down. "Insane! Even Rowena, who pioneered the technique, limited herself to two iterations because tracking the effects became exponentially harder! And that was when she was wearing her Diadem!"

"What can I say." He buffed his nails on the lapel of his robes. "Drunk me is a genius."

"Too bad sober you is a nitwit," she retorted.

He smirked. "Unlike you, I _did _understand that thing. Briefly."

She huffed and folded her arms.

Su straightened up. "What if we recreated those conditions?"

He blinked. "You mean me getting plastered?"

She shrugged. "It bears testing."

He looked at her dubiously. "I suppose I could nip back to Grimmauld Place and nick some of Sirius's booze. There's no absinthe left, though, and I'm not sure I'd want to try it even if there was."

Su nodded. "Regular liquor will serve as the initial experiment."

"You can do it here if you let me have a taste." Hogwarts squirmed under their stares. "What? My elves don't brew alcohol, and I've been curious for a while."

He exchanged a glance with Su. They had brought her butterbeer, but that hardly counted. "It's a little too early for you."

H smiled smugly. "I'll have you know that I recently discovered an Age-Locked cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things and it opened for me."

Su inclined her head. "Perhaps just a taste, then. Cilly!" An elf in a black tunic appeared beside the table. "Bring Mr. Potter a bottle from the top shelf of father's liquor cabinet."

He watched the elf bow and pop away. "She isn't for sale, is she?"

The look Su leveled on him made him feel like a kindergartner caught at mischief. "Cilly has been a dear member of our family since I was a toddler."

He raised his palms. "Duly noted."

While they waited, Hogwarts cleared the cups off the table and produced an enormous plate of those tiny sandwiches he knew were called _horse divorce_. Cilly returned in short order and placed a shot glass and a squat bottle before him.

He regarded the moon runes on the bright red label. "What is it?"

"Baijiu," Su said. "My father swears by it."

At least it wasn't the F-word, which he couldn't even think about lest he summon the feathered menace. He tapped the neck of the bottle with his wand to uncork it and sniffed. A sickly sweet smell pervaded his nostrils, and he drew back.

"So, you're seriously telling me to get drunk?"

"For science," she said, her eyes sparkling.

He snorted. "What the hell do they teach down in the Department of Mysteries?"

He contemplated the single glass, then poured a finger's worth of the colorless liquor and nudged it toward Hogwarts. The bottle he tipped at Su before raising it to his lips.

"Barbarian," she chided.

Fighting back a smile, he took an experimental swig. It set his throat ablaze and ignited in his stomach, leaving an aftertaste of what had to be some kind of an industrial cauldron cleaner.

"_Eurgh_, that's bloody"—his watering eyes caught Su's—"strong."

He set the bottle down and hurriedly popped a sandwich into his mouth. Seeing Hogwarts reach for her glass, he waved at her frantically and nearly choked in his hurry to swallow.

She screwed her face up, and ignoring his gesticulations, knocked the glass back. Her eyes widened and she swallowed loudly before breaking into a coughing fit.

"Tried to warn you," he croaked.

She stuck her tongue out and fanned it with her palm. "Thish... thish much is nothing. The burn was a little unexpected, that's all."

He took another swig and swished it around his mouth. Unlike its colorless nature suggested, the liquor was full of flavor, but none of it was particularly good. "Nope. Trust me, it's just nasty." Catching himself, he glanced guiltily at Su.

"My bad. I prioritized the alcohol content." She motioned to pass her the bottle and took a sip. Her brows furrowed slightly, but she didn't even flinch. "I'll ask for something more palatable."

Harry and H stared at her with awe. She licked her lips thoughtfully, then, noticing the attention, raised her eyebrows.

He extended his hand. "You know what, never mind. Might as well finish it off—or have it finish _me_ off, more like."

Su glanced at him doubtfully but handed the liquor back.

He wasted no time taking a large gulp, then cleared his throat so his voice wouldn't waver. "_Oof_. Yeah, I reckon it's growing on me." It wasn't, but seeing a woman half his size drink that rotgut like it was water made him feel like he was losing somehow.

"I'll match you," Su said. "One sip for your three."

The company would certainly make this more bearable. "Alright."

Taking a smaller sip, he jiggled the bottle to gauge its fullness and preemptively apologized to his liver. His gaze flicked to his left hand, still pink in places, but whole and healthy. If he could regrow fingers, this unholy brew wouldn't kill him.

"Here's to science." He took his third sip and handed the bottle over.

"Science," Su returned with more enthusiasm.

Hogwarts propped her elbows on the table and cupped her chin. "When's _my_ turn?"

Accepting the bottle back and downing another mouthful, he scrutinized her face. The setting sun cast a reddish glow over the room, so it was difficult to tell, but her cheeks seemed rosier than usual. "Reckon you've had enough."

"Human narcotics won't affect me." She snatched the bottle out of his grasp.

He sighed. "Where have I heard that line before?"

Hogwarts tipped the bottle toward herself to peer at its neck. "How unsanitary."

"Just use the—" He blinked, realizing the glass had vanished at some point.

She bravely took a swig, then moaned and hid her face in the crook of her elbow.

"See, told you." He gently pried the bottle from her fingers. "Get your elves to bring you some juice if you insist on keeping us company."

She raised her head just so her hazy violet eyes were visible and spoke through her sleeve. "Impudent h-human. I bet I could outdrink you if I wanted to."

He rolled his eyes. "Let's not test that."

"Don't forget," Su said, nudging the parchment toward him. "Any insights?"

Tilting his head this way and that, he squinted at the faded scribbles. "Not really—wait. This bit here, it sort of looks like..."

Su retrieved a fountain pen and a notebook from her robes and leaned over the table.

"A stain from my tea mug!" he said triumphantly.

She gave him a flat stare. "Keep going."

Slumping in his seat, he turned the bottle in his hands. He felt warm, sluggish, and not the slightest bit smarter. Did Su really expect this to work? He peered across the table and smiled at her earnest expression as she jotted something into her notebook, murmuring about 'Baruffio's Peak'.

Her gaze lifted to meet his.

"To adventure." He grinned goofily, drank, and proffered the bottle.

The corners of her lips quirked. "To friends."

"To my amazing genius." The baijiu didn't seem to taste so bad anymore.

Hogwarts, who had been munching morosely on a snack, seized the bottle. "To—to Rowena Ravenclaw, the _greatest _enchanter who ever lived!" She squeezed her eyes shut and wet her lips with the drink.

"We get it, your mum's brilliant," he grumbled. "The emphasis was unnecessary."

Su shot her a sly glance. "Drunk Harry might measure up to her talent."

"As if!" H eyed the parchment. "Halfway there, perhaps. He needs a century of work under his belt before he even begins to approach her genius."

"Only halfway? That thing isn't even my best drunk creation."

She cocked her head. "What is your best, then?"

He tried to keep a straight face as he locked eyes with her. "You are."

"W-what, what are you saying..." She dropped her gaze and fidgeted before suddenly straightening up. "How dare you! If anyone deserves credit for my creation, it's the Founders—you only gave me a tiny poke! What are you laughing about, Su?"

"You're so easy to rile up." Su bent closer to pat her head.

Clearly bewildered, Hogwarts nevertheless leaned into the touch. Her eyelids drooped as Su's fingers massaged her scalp. He felt a pang of envy; him H kept at an arm's distance these days.

"Your hair's amazing," Su said.

"I'm thinking of removing it," H murmured. "Don't see much purpose in lugging this cumbersome tangle of keratin around."

"It indicates health and helps attract mates."

Her eyes flew open. "Is that so... Humans sure fixate on the weirdest things."

"As does red lipstick," Su continued.

"D-don't get any ideas!" H ducked away from her hand and glared at Harry. "I just felt like trying it today, alright?"

He snorted. "Why're you looking at _me_?"

"You were undoubtedly thinking something delusional."

"Oh, so you're a Legilimens now?"

She crossed her arms. "A mind of my caliber can easily predict your crude thought processes. Why, the last time you appeared in my presence intoxicated... y-you, so crassly..." Color seeped into her cheeks.

He chuckled. "Good times. Man, you were tiny back then... Not that that has changed much."

She half-rose in her chair. "Whose fault do you think that is! Had I my way, I would've manifested in a body of the toughest granite, mighty enough to crush anyone under my heel."

"Okay, yeah." He drank. "That _would've_ been pretty badass. Especially if you had spiky armor and a sword... no, for a statue, I'd go with a huge warhammer. With spikes."

Hogwarts plopped down with a faraway look in her eyes. "Yes, I can almost see it... and a shield bearing the crest of the Founders, to strike awe into the hearts of foe and friend alike!"

"With spikes on it."

"Yes," she said, looking at him with something akin to admiration. "You _do_ have good ideas every now and then."

A strangled noise drew their attention to Su, who had her hand clamped over her mouth. At their confused looks, she lowered her head to the table and dissolved into laughter. "Same... tastes."

Harry and Hogwarts exchanged a glance and said in unison, "Are not!"

Su only laughed harder.

He shook his head and returned to examining the parchment. Try as he might, he couldn't focus on the squiggles long enough to parse their meaning. Taking a leaf out of H's book, he traced the order of activation with his finger before groaning and rubbing his eyes.

"Alright?" Su asked, suddenly serious.

"Fine, it's just... this ain't working." Heedless of Su's extended hand, he took another swallow. The bottle felt a lot lighter than before. "Hang on, lemme try something."

Never mind not providing inspiration, the alcohol fumes were melting his brain into goo. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and cleared his mind. In response to his controlled breathing, his heart rate began slowing down.

Opening his eyes, he stared expectantly at the parchment, only to find his old scribbles swimming before him. Occlumency, it appeared, was powerless against alcohol. He groped absently for the bottle and raised his head in surprise. Su had taken it and was peering at him with concern.

"Maybe I underestimated the strength..."

"I'm fine," he said. "Gonna try one more thing."

He closed his eyes again. The heat of the alcohol had long since spread through his limbs, so relaxing was less effort and more inevitability. He didn't even attempt to shepherd his stray thoughts; the cold, analytical part that took the reins during an Occluded state was as intoxicated as the rest.

His head lolled, and he propped an elbow on the table to support it. A voice reached his ears. He frowned. He couldn't quite remember what he was supposed to—_ah_. His malletspace. Silly name.

He tried to peer into his pocket dimension, but as before, he saw nothing. It was like that part of his senses had been permanently deadened. And yet...

Something in the recesses of his mind felt different.

Tuning out all distractions, he visualized a fuzzy blob amid a void, like a nebula lit up by fleeting discharges of his thoughts. His ego was but a passive observer as his brain drifted in a haze of inebriation. What had made him take note?

_There_.

His visualization dissolved as he latched on to the oddity with all his focus. A connection, a link to outside. Unease welled up in him as he recalled the horcrux, but this connection felt fragile, like a flimsy string.

He followed the string to see where it lead, but it appeared to dissipate into the very air surrounding him. Befuddled, he plucked it experimentally.

A high-pitched cry jolted him out of his reverie. He blinked groggily at the evening sunlight flooding the room. Su and Hogwarts were craning their necks around, the former appearing curious, the latter distressed.

"What happened?" His voice came out a little hoarse.

"I thought..." Hogwarts gave him an uncertain look, then pursed her lips. "Never you mind. You slept through it, and it's not going to repeat itself."

He turned to Su.

"Everything went... foggy," she said.

"Huh, weird." He lunged for the bottle on her side of the table, but she pulled it away.

"The experiment's a failure," she said.

He frowned. "Failure? But it was just getting good! I feel like I'm almost getting it."

H peered at him strangely. "Why is he talking funny?"

Su rolled her eyes. "He's drunk. So are you, H."

"Oh... That might explain earlier." She giggled. "So _this_ is what it's like. Can I have some more?"

Su shook her head. "Drink some water."

"Don't be so stingy!"

"You'll thank me tomorrow."

Ignoring the byplay, Harry searched out the tenuous connection and mulled over it. On an impulse, he _pushed_ as though to expand it.

For a second, the air around wavered like in a haze of heat. Hogwarts looked around in alarm, whereas Su, busy stoppering the bottle, didn't notice.

"Huh." Pushing back his chair, he stared at the parquet under his feet and willed it to change. A patch of wood shimmered and became a glossy floor tile. His lips curled into a grin. "Fucking eureka."

H mouthed the words as though to memorize them while Su perked up and asked, "A breakthrough?"

"And how! It occurs to me that I'm inside a room that grants wishes, in the company of two gorgeous girls"—H blushed, while Su nodded matter-of-factly—"yet all I'm doing is racking my brain over a stupid parchment. Well, no more!" He sprang up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. "I believe a change in decor is in order."

"What do you..." Hogwarts trailed off as the table and the chairs went fuzzy around the edges.

Grinning, he seized the thread tying him to the Room of Requirement with every last shred of power his inebriated brain could muster. The scene of his dreams was stark in his mind, eager to be imprinted upon the world.

He stomped his foot. Gleaming marble spread across the floor, transforming the parquet, then creeping up the walls. The window gained a layer of frosting, and the room darkened before floating candles spawned in the air. Their intimate light reflected off tall freestanding mirrors that appeared along the walls.

Su pocketed her stationery and rose from the table, which vanished a second later. "H?"

"It's not me." Hogwarts whipped her head about, her mouth ajar, then whirled on Harry. "You! How are you doing this?"

He cackled and raised his hands dramatically. The floor in the middle of the room sank in, becoming an enormous circular bath, and a dozen faucets sprouted along the rim. A privacy screen materialized in a corner, then towel racks and cabinets along the walls.

Hogwarts growled, the tips of her hair curling up. "A human, doing as he pleases in my domain? Unacceptable."

Pain stabbed through his forehead as a blurry image of the living room superimposed itself upon the surroundings. H's face was set in concentration; sensing his attention, she shot him a victorious smirk.

He smiled. Drawing on his manly spirit, on the bath scene denied to him back in sixth year, on the dream unrealized but never forgotten, he forged a glorious sword of justice and _thrust_ it into the connection.

"Impossible," H cried. "Such willpower—h-he's wrestling control from me—I can't—"

He struck a pose. "Witness the might of—_hic_—Eternal Warlock!"

"Extraordinary," Su whispered, her eyes wide.

With a last groan of stone, the Room of Requirement settled into his version of reality. Rose petals sprinkled the floor, filling the air with their subtle scent. The floating candles lent the enormous bathroom a cozy ambiance. The bowl-shaped bath in the middle brimmed with bubbles and steamed lightly.

H clutched her head. "Founders forgive me... to be overcome in a place where I am at my strongest... the humiliation..."

Su patted her shoulder. "There, there." She looked around with interest. "I take it Harry exploited some rudimentary control he had as the Room's summoner."

He strolled toward the bath, unbuttoning his robes on the go. "Shush. No theorizing now, only bathing."

His robes fell to the floor, then his shirt. He tossed his Horntail pendant atop before contemplating the privacy screen in the corner. Deciding it wasn't worth the trip, he kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt.

He glanced back. The girls stared in stunned silence and wouldn't look away. He faltered a little, then yanked down his trousers and boxers.

Hogwarts squeaked and buried her face in her palms. "Have you no shame? Cover yourself up like befits a lower life form!"

Chuckling, he plunked into the hot bath and rested his elbows on the edge. "_Ahh_. Come on in, the water's great."

H cautiously lowered her hands. "If you truly believe I'm getting in with you, you're even more delusional than..." She trailed off as Su retreated behind the screen. "What are you doing?"

The answer came in the form of rustling fabric and thick grey robes being flung over the top of the partition.

Hogwarts gaped. "Why are _you_ undressing?"

Su peeked from behind the screen, her sleek ponytail dangling down her blouse-covered shoulder. "Can't bathe clothed." She popped behind and soon draped the blouse beside her robes.

"You don't have to go along with his perverted fancies." H looked at the grinning Harry, then at the screen. "I thought you were the reasonable one!"

"Unlike you two, I have no power here. If you can't beat them..."

H wrung her hands, but Harry was more interested in what was happening behind the screen. In a fortuitous oversight, he hadn't provided a laundry basket, and someone as neat as Su wasn't about to chuck her undergarments to the floor.

Su's delicate hand appeared over the top of the partition. Watching raptly, he wriggled closer along the edge. As though sensing his gaze, her index finger wagged in his direction. Bursting out in laughter, he reclined and stretched out his legs. Of course, she could conjure one if she wanted.

A pink-cheeked Su emerged clutching a long fluffy towel to her chest. The gentle curves of her hips peeked from the sides as she approached the bath with short measured steps. Pausing at the edge, she lowered her foot until it brushed the bubbles.

He swallowed and shifted. "Careful, it's pretty deep."

Giving him a coy look, she knelt, braced a palm against the rim, and swung her legs one after another into the water. Her other hand clutched the towel to her chest, its lower end draped over her lap.

She found her footing and stood. Grasping the upper edge of the towel with both hands, she rolled it up as she lowered herself into the water. It was so graceful a maneuver he wasn't sure whether he was impressed or disappointed when he barely caught a glimpse of her pale skin.

Submerging herself up to the shoulders, she laid the rolled-up towel on the rim and rested her head against it with a contented sigh. "You were right."

His mouth moved a few times before anything came out. "Huh?"

Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "The water's nice."

"Told you." He turned his head languidly. "Do you need a separate invitation, H?"

She huffed and turned away, but kept shooting them sideways glances. "I'm not about to let you ogle me. As soon as I figure out how to break your control, I'm changing this place back, and then there will be hell to pay."

"It can't be helped if you're that embarrassed." He focused on a section of the wall until it blurred, then coalesced into a door. "I tried connecting it to your quarters. Just let us adults unwind here for an hour or two, please?"

She made a few steps toward the door before wheeling around. "Listen here, I'm older than both of you put together, so spare me the condescension! Furthermore, not wanting your lascivious eyes on me has less to do with embarrassment and more with _revulsion_."

"Uh-huh." Turning away, he waved over his shoulder. "You've made your point. No one's forcing you to stay."

He strained his ears and was soon rewarded with a patter of footfalls. Su's lips curled upward as she looked behind him.

"Y-you can't make me leave." H sounded closer than before. "This is still my domain."

Su mouthed, "Too easy."

Suppressing a grin, he glanced over his shoulder to find H fidgeting with a lock of her hair. "Does that mean you want to get in after all?"

She looked everywhere but at him as she spoke. "_Hmph_. O-only to see if soaking this flesh-puppet in hot water improves its function, nothing more." She shot him a glare. "But I'm not undressing unless you're blindfolded."

His lips twitched. "I didn't expect you to be into the kinky stuff, but if that's what you want..."

"Kinky stuff?" she said blankly.

"I'll explain when you're older."

"I just told you—" She stamped her foot. "N-never mind the blindfold! Transfigure me a bathing suit."

"It's a bath, not a pool," Su chided.

She crossed her arms. "Silly human distinctions. From my perspective, either is just a basin of water."

"I'll allow it," Harry said magnanimously. Tilting his head back, he eyed Hogwarts head to toe. "Fetch my wand, will you? It's just on top of my robes over there."

"You're the last person I'd let alter my clothes," she scoffed. "Su, could you..."

Receiving a languorous nod in response, Hogwarts traipsed behind the screen. Harry forced the Room to disgorge the bottle of baijiu out of thin air and took a generous draft as he waited. She re-emerged several minutes later, clutching Su's wand in one hand and nervously smoothing down her sundress with the other.

Su turned around and rested her arms atop the towel. "Where did you get that dress?"

H tiptoed barefooted toward her. "Nelly the house-elf sewed it for me—she previously worked for a seamstress, so when I said I only had one pair of robes..." She glanced down. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Su shook her head. "It suits you."

H beamed, then hid her smile and puffed up. "If I'm trapped inside this inadequate form, I might as well garb myself as befits my station."

"If you want more clothes, I'd be happy to help you pick."

"Then..." H scuffed the floor with her toes and dropped her voice. "Where do you get.." She indicated the screen with her eyes.

"Delphine's Delights." Su cupped a hand to her mouth and added conspiratorially, "They sell erotic ones too."

"I don't need _that_ kind!" Fisting Su's wand awkwardly, she jabbed it in Harry's direction. "Shut up and wipe that leer off your face."

He tried to scoot out of the line of fire, but his muscles were too slack. "Never said a word."

Water trickled off Su's slender back as she pushed up and plucked her wand from H's hand. Sinking back, she looked her over thoughtfully.

H stopped glaring at Harry and clutched the front of her dress. "Have you done this before? You won't make a mistake, right? Minerva always said to limit the motion of your elbow on the second swish when working with textile—"

"O in my NEWT," Su said. "How do you want it?"

"The less revealing the better. It might not be the Victorian era anymore, but don't you dare put me into those tiny strips of fabric Muggles call swimwear!"

Su lifted her wand. "Stay still."

H's face screwed up in anticipation. Su's wand danced over her, and at its passing, the cream dress darkened to navy blue as though stained with ink. The fabric tightened, and the hem fused between H's thighs, making her squeak and cover her crotch. At the final flick of the wand, a white nameplate appeared across her not-quite-flat chest, spelling 'Hogwarts'.

"This..." Looking down at the navy one-piece, H fingered the smooth fabric. "This is comfortable and fairly modest. Yes, rather like what the champion of that upstart Beauxbatons wore. Thanks, Su, I almost feared—" Lifting her head, she did a double-take. "Why is Harry drooling?"

"_Hehehe_." Stricken by the wondrous sight, he barely had the presence of mind to wipe his chin. Never had he dared hope to see the fabled school swimsuit in real life—plus, the girl inside was a thousand years old, and thus perfectly acceptable to ogle. "Thank you, Su. _Thank you so much._ But how did you know?"

"I researched," she said humbly.

His gaze raked over H even as he spoke. "Your abilities do the Unspeakables proud."

"E-explain yourself, Su!" Hogwarts squeaked, sidling toward the edge. She leapt in, launching a fountain of bubbles, and immediately sat down with her knees up to her chest. Her waist-length hair billowed around her like a black cloak.

Su wiped some foam off her forehead. "Let's do up your hair—"

"Who cares about my hair!" Hogwarts pointed at Harry. "He looks like—like he's about to throw himself at me!"

"Don't worry. Harry might be selfish, crass, impulsive, and have deviant tastes, but..." Su blinked. "I forgot where I was going with this."

"Oi!" He slapped some water at her, but it didn't reach.

H slid closer to Su. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but... deviant tastes?"

"How to explain..." Su tapped her chin. "He belongs to a sad breed of humans who lurk in basements watching animated drawings."

He interjected, "My room's on the third floor!"

H cocked her head. "Animated drawings?"

"A Muggle form of storytelling," Su said.

"They sure invented some interesting things since our worlds separated," H said. "It's a shame their gizmos are so fragile they break just by coming into contact with my awesome power."

"These stories also come in picture book form. I'll bring one next time."

"You will?" H smiled, then cleared her throat. "This is purely to learn more about Muggle culture, of course."

"Don't teach her anything weird," Harry said.

Su sent him an amused glance before turning back to H. "How's the bath?"

Her violet eyes blinked twice. "The water does feel pleasant, I admit. If _he_ weren't here, it would be quite relaxing." She moved away from the edge to regard the ornate faucets. "The craftsmanship appears to be decent as well. Not anywhere near the level of the Founders, but—_glurble_."

Su straightened in alarm as Hogwarts slipped and went under, but a second later, she surfaced with a crown of foam perched atop her head.

"I—I meant to do that," she spluttered. As though to prove it, she dipped underwater again, then emerged a short distance away and shook off the foam like a cat.

He chuckled at her antics. "Don't the bubbles sting your eyes?"

She gave him a confused look. "Why would they?"

Glancing down, he scooped up a palmful of foam. The bubbles remained intact as they glided off his palm. When he gingerly poked them with his tongue, rather than bitter soapiness he tasted fruit.

"Never mind," he muttered. "Just being a Muggle."

H snorted and propelled herself across the bath. Some spray landed on Su's face, who only sighed good-naturedly.

Resting against the edge, he picked up the bottle and took another gulp. Su extended a hand toward him.

He grinned. "Gonna confiscate it?"

She shook her head. "Share."

"Afraid I'm about done with it." He drained the bottle, grimacing at the texture of the sediment at the bottom. "Tell your old man I said thanks."

Su pouted and submerged her shoulders. Swimming in a drunken haze, he was struck by a realization: why, if he dived underneath the foam, he could feast his eyes upon the most delectable sight. He lowered himself until the bubbles tickled his chin and inhaled deeply.

With a swiftness that belied her relaxed countenance, Su reached behind for her wand and nailed him with a Stinging Hex. He yelped and rubbed his forehead.

She twirled her wand. "Head above water."

He glanced to where his own wand lay many yards away. Three, at the very least. "Fine, but I'm agreeing under protest." He shielded his face from another spray of foam. "How come H gets to dive around all she wants? I sense discre—discrimination."

"She's just a child."

H stopped splashing. "Am not!"

Su raised her eyebrows. "Then should Harry be worried about you peeping?"

"Of c-c-course not! Why would I want to look at t-that gross appendage of his?" As if to make a point, she waded away from him and settled at Su's side.

With a glint in her eye, Su leaned over to address her in a stage whisper. "So it's gross?"

H's face rapidly grew crimson. "Su! I wasn't looking! I just know what human males are like."

"You do?"

"In theory!" She crossed her arms. "If—and only if—I was curious about that, I wouldn't need to resort to petty tricks. Within my realm, I can see anything I desire."

Su glanced longingly to where her Unspeakable robes were draped over the screen and sighed.

"You two are such pervs," he murmured, reclining with a contented grin. Even keeping his head up was a herculean task.

H rounded on him. "For the last time, I'm not—"

Su laid a hand atop her shoulder, looking like she was trying not to laugh. "Don't you want to see if it would only give you a _tiny_ poke?"

Slipping away, Hogwarts batted water at her. "I've just about had enough! Either shut up, or I'll... I'll shut you up!"

She quirked her eyebrows. "Oh?"

H sank down, not looking her in the eye. "Recall who you're speaking to. I could delve into the imprints of the castle and learn every embarrassing little secret you've kept during your schooling."

Not a muscle twitched on her face. "Go ahead."

H gaped. "Don't think that I won't! I wouldn't normally do this, never to a friend, but keep trying my patience and I really will!"

Su stared at her in a challenge.

"D-don't cry about it later!" Hogwart's eyes unfocused, and even though they remained directed at Su, Harry knew they were seeing times past. Eventually, she straightened up and said, "Ha!"

"I'm quaking in fear."

"You should," H said. "Unless you apologize, I'll tell Harry all about the crush you had in your second year!"

Su's brow furrowed. "Thaddeus Mandrake, was it?" A wistful smile came to her lips. "I'd almost forgotten."

"He was five years older! Y-you wrote him an anonymous love letter on Valentine's day! With _hearts_ on it!" When Su remained impassive and Harry unimpressed, she sputtered. "And—and you slept with your fox plushie until fourth year!"

"Still do sometimes," Su said.

"Heh, cute," Harry murmured. It was taking a tremendous effort to hold his eyelids up for some reason.

H appeared lost for words. Su looked her in the eye, and covering her mouth, yawned daintily. H scowled and once more stared off into space. Her already flushed cheeks reddened further.

"T-this..." She squirmed. "Don't make me use this."

Su arched her eyebrows.

"T-the day after you learned the Silencing Charm." Hogwarts took a deep breath. "You—you—"

"Seriously?" The blush in Su's cheeks deepened, but she sounded more amused than anything. "Harry was right about you."

"_Ooh,_" H growled. "I was trying to be nice, but you need to be put in your place! Harry—ever since she learned the charm—Su, she..."

Su stared her in the eye. "Yes?"

H's gaze darted skittishly. "Every night... you would silence your bed and... and..."

"And what?" Su sidled closer.

Swallowing, H shrunk back. "Y-you... under the b-bedcovers..."

Su leaned in. "_Say it._"

H's lips moved soundlessly before she groaned and submerged to her nose. Her face above the foam was beet-red. Su straightened up and flashed a V-sign.

The bubbles muffled Hogwart's glum voice. "I could never win against you."

Su patted her head and said something Harry couldn't make out through the whooshing in his ears. His head lolled forward before jerking back.

"Harry?"

He tried to voice a reassurance, but only a murmur escaped his lips. The world spun, and he closed his eyes to shut it out. He was falling, falling through warm fluffy clouds. The last thing he heard was a muted screech.

* * *

Fragments of conversation pulled him to the boundary between dream and consciousness. He could neither tell who was speaking nor cared to. A smothering weight pressed on his chest, but he couldn't so much as twitch a finger. Worrying about it felt like too much effort.

"Shoo, you gaudy feather duster. Can't you see he's uncomfortable?"

There was a trill, and the weight shifted. A breeze tickled his face.

A giggle. "Looks like you have competition."

"Please. Even if I desired to consort with lower life forms, human males are a dime a dozen."

A silence. "So you wouldn't care if someone stole him away?"

"Well... not _anyone_. It wouldn't do for him to lose his head and forget me entirely." Affected laughter. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? I've seen this dance unfold thousands of times, even if it was never through these eyes... I guess it's true what your kind says about there being no accounting for taste."

"Hypocrite."

"I keep telling you..." A sigh. "Humans should live like humans do... while they can."

"What does that mean?"

"It's hardly more than a suspicion at this point. One way or another, you'll find out..."

Accompanied by the soft voices, he drifted off.

* * *

A burning hoof crushed Harry's chest while two blazing eyes bored into his. He pummeled the hoof with his fists, trying futilely to suck in air—

His eyes flew open to a bird's head inches away. Yelping, he swatted it aside. With a squawk and a flapping of wings, a weight lifted off his chest. Breathing rapidly, he squinted at the sunlit surroundings.

A cool hand pushed his glasses onto his nose. He was sprawled atop a gargantuan bed. Firo perched on a bedpost and was glaring at him with a beady eye. Hogwarts snored softly at the foot of the bed, clad in cat-print pyjamas and curled up in a ball. Su knelt nearby, her loose hair falling to her shoulders, and her grey robes laid across her lap.

"Mornin'." He winced at the throbbing in his temples.

"Good morning." She rummaged in her robes, found her wand, and conjured him a glass of water.

Nodding gratefully, he gulped it down. The water relieved his parched throat, and even his headache receded a bit.

"Cheers, bloody love you," he breathed. He tipped the glass over to catch the last drops with his tongue, then sent her a questioning glance. "Su?"

She twitched, then said, not meeting his eyes, "This was my idea."

He sat up sharply, but his head spun, and he had to recline against the headboard. "That's right, the experiment! What happened?"

"You fainted." She turned her head a fraction. "Firo pulled you out. By your _hair_."

The bird stood taller and fluffed her gold-and-scarlet feathers. Snorting, he looked around. Besides the massive bed, the room's only notable feature was the huge bay window, through which morning sunlight spilled in. "And where are we, exactly?"

The question seemed to amuse Su. "The door from the bathroom led here. What were you planning?"

"Er..." He rubbed his forehead. "Probably something along these lines. Just with less clothes involved."

He guffawed when Su blushed and averted her gaze. Pursing her lips, she began gathering her hair into a ponytail. His gaze lingered on her puffy eyes.

"You get any sleep at all?"

She nodded and patted the sheets. "Your delusions are awfully comfortable. We did wait to make sure you were alright, though."

He grimaced apologetically. "I just needed to sleep it off, no big deal."

"You drank too much. I heard you're supposed to turn someone passed out from alcohol on their side, but..." She spread her hand, revealing reddish marks on her fingers.

His head pivoted toward the bedpost. "Firo! Bad bird!"

Firo cocked her head and chirped.

"Why do I even bother." Sighing, he slumped onto the silky sheets and watched Su don her robes and bring up her cowl. "Going somewhere?"

A swirl of darkness faced him. "Work."

He blinked. "My condolences. Sometimes I forget you poor wage-slaves have to toil away every weekday."

"Not everybody can afford to live as a sybarite." She sounded like she was smiling.

He groaned. "Don't tell me you've been listening to that prick Croaker."

"It was hard not to," she deadpanned, starting for the door.

"Ha! I must've really gotten under his skin, huh?" Smirking at the thought, he crawled off the bed. The journey proved arduous since his hands and feet were sinking inches into the mattress. Swinging his legs to the floor, he hurried after her.

Su glanced at him, made a funny noise, and marched through the door. Yawning, he followed her into the bathroom. The floating candles had guttered out, and the tiles, strewn with wilted rose petals, were cold under his feet.

He felt for the thread connecting him to the Room of Requirement, but Firo landed on his shoulder and made him stumble. He glared halfheartedly but allowed her the ride. She had come to his rescue, after all.

Coming up to the exit, Su turned the handle and stepped outside. He made to follow, but her hand on his chest stopped him.

"See you later," she said, her voice oddly strained. Her cowl dipped down for a moment. "Remember, exposing yourself to minors is a crime."

The door shut in his face. He blinked blearily, then glanced down his front.

"Why, you—" He banged on the door with his fist, not daring to open it lest he commit the very crime she mentioned. "Tell me earlier!"


	12. Russian Expedition, Part 1

Sharp bangs roused Harry from his sleep. Rolling onto his side, he pulled the blanket over his head and hoped the noise would die off as most problems did if you ignored them long enough. Alas. Groaning, he sat up in his bed. It sounded like someone was pulling the Weasley twins' super-powered firecrackers.

"Sirius!" he bellowed. "Have you forgotten it's not Christmas again?"

His only answer was another window-rattling blast. Fuming, he threw on a dressing gown, grabbed his wand, and marched out of his room in search of the noise. The hallway's wooden floor was warm under his feet, and he had to shield his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun streaming through the windows.

He climbed a floor down and swiveled his head. Contrary to his expectations, the blasts appeared to be coming from the drawing-room, which Sirius normally avoided. Bad memories or some such.

Nudging the door open a fraction, he peeked inside. The fireplace at the back crackled with green flames, and inside it hunched two men. One was skinny and disheveled, nestling awkwardly against the fireplace's side with his fingers in his ears, while the other held his wand aloft, his mane of greying tawny hair fluttering in the haze of the fire.

Bloody hell. What was Scrimgeour doing here?

A deafening bang from Scrimgeour's wand derailed Harry's train of thought. Flinching, he shoved open the door and strode inside. It was good to see the wards do their job and not let strangers through the Floo, but being stuck inside a sweltering fireplace did tend to leave people in a foul mood.

Scrimgeor's face brightened. "So you were home after all, Mr. Potter."

Halting before the fireplace, he crossed his arms. "Yeah. _Sleeping_." Instead of chastising the visitors, his words made them stare. "What? I had a busy night."

"Yes, well... I do apologize." Scrimgeour braced a palm against the wall of the fireplace. "Would you mind letting us in? We have important matters to discuss."

He was tempted to let them roast a little longer, but Scrimgeour looked like he was struggling to stay upright. Sighing, Harry canceled the barrier, allowing the two to stumble into the drawing-room. "Could've let me know you were coming. Would've been the polite thing to do."

Scrimgeor spared him a glance as he brushed off his robes. "I believe my Undersecretary sent no less than four owls requesting your presence at the Ministry, and after not hearing back, a meeting at your convenience."

His gaze strayed to the firewood rack, where several balled-up envelopes stood out in the kindling pile. "That's odd. I'll, uh, investigate the matter." He coughed. "What's so important that would make the esteemed Minister for Magic grace me with his presence, anyway?"

Scrimgeour's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Only good news from me, I assure you. First, allow me to introduce Mr. Evgenij Orlov, the Russian ambassador."

Harry blinked at the mousy man, who was now smiling ear-to-ear, and proffered his hand. "What's up?"

Evgenij pumped his hand. "An honor, Mr. Potter, an honor. I'm here to negotiate with you on behalf of the great country of Russia."

"Right." Harry wished he had had his first cup of tea already. This seemed like something he would need a working brain for. Plopping down on his basilisk couch, he gestured at the others to be seated. "What could the Russians possibly want with _me_?"

Scrimgeour limped to a vacant armchair and sat heavily. "All things in order. First of all, allow me to extend my congratulations. As of this morning, you, Mr. Potter, are Britain's newest internationally recognized warlock." His hand slipped into his inner pocket to withdraw a stack of parchment, which he extended toward Harry. "We filed a petition weeks ago, but the Swiss are notorious sticklers to rules. Had to verify everything a dozen times, you understand."

Harry did not, in fact, understand. He picked up the stack and shuffled through it. The topmost parchment was a certificate proclaiming him a warlock, and the rest appeared to be translations into less relevant languages.

He met Scrimgeour's expectant gaze. "I thought warlocks were grumpy old farts?"

"They do tend to be the oldest and wisest members of their communities, but evidently, that is not a requirement. A great feat of martial prowess is, and _that_ you fulfill in spades."

Grinning, he sat up straighter. "Warlock Potter does have a nice ring to it. Cheers, Rufus, you really came through for me here."

Scrimgeour's yellowish eyes glinted. "Don't mention it, Mr. Potter. The Ministry strives to recognize the efforts of our best and bravest."

He rubbed his hands. "So, what do I get?"

Scrimgeour blinked. "You've lost me, I'm afraid."

"You know, like a stipend, or legal immunity, or awesome forbidden artifacts—"

"It is largely an honorary title. Some would call it a relic of older times, but we British recognize the importance of tradition."

Keeping eye contact, Harry bunched up the parchments into a ball.

"As a part of that ancient and noble order," said Scrimgeour quickly, "you will be looked upon with respect and admiration. Not just in Britain, mind you, but every member state of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"Oh." His hands stilled. "I guess that's not so bad."

Scrimgeour glanced at the ambassador. "Of course, the station has its responsibilities. Warlocks are honor-bound to defend the realm, and they're traditionally the first to be called to resolve the biggest magical calamities."

Harry looked at the perpetually smiling Evgenij, then back at Scrimgeour. He thrust out the crumpled parchments. "Don't wanna."

The Minister didn't move. "One of the highest honors a wizard or a witch can achieve in their lifetime... and you don't want it?"

Evgenij's eyes shone as he leaned closer. "You are a very humble man."

Harry snorted. "Sure, whatever. Point is, I refuse, and that's final."

"I'm sorry to say that's not an option." The cool smile reappeared on Scrimgeour's face. "Membership in the order of warlocks is lifelong, and your name has already been entered into the records."

"Oh yeah?" He squeezed the ball of documents tighter. "There's one thing you failed to take into account, Minister."

Scrimgeor's shaggy eyebrows lifted. "And what would that be, Mr. Potter?"

"Parchment burns." Grinning wickedly, he lobbed the ball into the fireplace, but it fell short. His cheeks heated up. He flicked his wand, propelling the ball into the fire, and watched smugly as the parchment shriveled up and blackened.

Scrimgeour's countenance showed none of the dismay Harry expected. "That is merely a copy, but even the destruction of the original would not change a thing. The true symbol of your station—the Warlock's Rod—is already being forged by the gnomes of Switzerland. In case you were wondering, their works are said to be nigh indestructible."

"How convenient," he grumbled. "Alright, let's hear it."

"Beg your pardon?"

He glared at Scrimgeour. "You're obviously trying to sucker me into something. Let's hear the spiel so I can say no and go have breakfast like a civilized person."

Scrimgeour glanced down at his watch and furrowed his brows. Evgenij, meanwhile, practically bounced in his armchair.

"Nothing gets past you, Mr. Potter," he said with admiration. "I've indeed come to request your help on behalf of the Russian people."

"Russians need _my_ help?" He shook his head. "You've got to be kidding."

"There's no need to be modest. You are the only confirmed Demonslayer in living memory!" Evgenij looked around theatrically. "Can I trust you to keep this matter a secret, no matter what your decision is?"

He waved him on. "Yeah, yeah."

"Our country, I'm sorry to say, is currently suffering from a minor demonic infestation." The smile on Evgenij's lips was rather incongruous with his words. "We need you and your fabled sword."

Harry worked his jaw before finding his voice. "Nope. No way, nuh-uh. I expected you to ask me to hunt down a Dark Lord, but this is worse. How do you even get a _minor_—never mind, I don't want to know." He took a deep breath. "Look, mate, you're misunderstanding something. If I duel, it's for sport. I'm a respectable businessman, not some demon-hunter."

"You sell figurines of yourself to impressionable children," Scrimgeour said dryly.

He scowled. "Like I said, I'm a businessman. Do you even know how much my brand is worth these days?"

Evgenij bobbed his head. "I understand, yes. There is a bounty—five thousand Galleons."

"Five thousand..." He stared off into space as he imagined the comfort he could live in, then caught himself. "See, that's what you should've started with—and it's still a no."

"Mr. Potter, I beg you to reconsider. Innocents might be dying as we speak!"

He looked away from Evgenij's beseeching expression. "You have Aurors and stuff, right? I'm sorry, but this really isn't my problem."

"I wouldn't be so quick to disavow responsibility," Scrimgeour said softly. "We have reason to believe the Russian summoner was inspired by you. They found newspaper clippings detailing this summer's incident in his apartment."

He glanced shiftily at Evgenij before staring at Scrimgeour. "I _slew_ a demon, not summoned it."

Scrimgeour spread his hands. "Of course. And since you told the story to everyone who would listen, the world knows they're out there and can be called. To some, that is reason enough to try."

They locked eyes for several tense moments. Harry averted his gaze first, and folding his arms, addressed the air between the guests. "You haven't got a leg to stand on and you know it. The Floo's right over there, gents, don't let me keep you—"

Flames flared overhead, and the air grew warmer as a gold-and-red phoenix settled atop his shoulder. Despite himself, he felt his irritation melt away.

"Hey, Firo. Any luck discovering your humanoid form yet?" He sighed when she tilted her head and chirped. "Keep trying."

She took off, smacking his cheek with her wing, and flapped over to Evgenij's shoulder. The Russian froze, only his eyes swiveling to admire her glittering plumage. Firo paid him no heed and stared beadily at Harry. He rubbed his forehead as his mind was assaulted by distorted, wide-angle images of a gleaming sword.

"It can't be," he gasped. "You care about something beyond eating and sleeping?"

Firo trilled and beat her wings.

"Fair argument, but no."

Firo cawed and soared toward him, but instead of landing on his shoulder, she pecked the crown of his head. Yelping, he pushed her away, only to have a flurry of pecks fall on his hands.

"Ouch! That's it, no more jalapeños for you—ow, ow, not my ear!" He crossed the fingers on one hand as he shielded himself with the other. "Fine, I'll go!" Her talons grazed his temple, and he uncrossed his fingers to swat at her, but she vanished in a whirl of fire. A wing cuffed the back of his head. "I said I'll do it!" Pecks rained on his head, and he yelled, actually meaning it, "I'll bloody do it!"

The attacks ceased. He gingerly lowered his welted hands and glowered at Firo, who landed atop Evgenij's shoulder again. Damn it. He knew this whole familiar business would bite him in the ass one day.

Scrimgeour looked like he could barely restrain his glee. "I daresay your phoenix is more conscientious than you. Had I my way, it would receive the Order of Merlin."

"She's welcome to it, for all I care," he muttered, probing his sore cheek. "Would probably peck the thing apart."

"Does that mean we can count on your help, Mr. Potter?" Evgenij asked, his smile back.

Harry jabbed his finger at him. "Not so fast! If I'm to risk my neck, I want ten thousand Galleons for it."

Evgenij didn't bat an eye. "We recognize the risk, naturally, but that is rather steep. Surely you will agree that six thousand would be more than adequate compensation."

He suppressed a smile at his gambit actually working. "Nine thousand and not a Sickle less."

"I might convince my higher-ups to raise the bounty to seven thousand, but considering our budget, that is as high as it can possibly go..."

He jutted out his chin. "World's only living Demonslayer, remember? Give me nine or deal with it yourselves."

"Merlin's beard, Potter," Scrimgeour interjected, "I can't believe you're haggling when lives are at stake."

Harry gave him a dark look. "When the Ministry exploited a loophole in the pardon and bled my vault dry for breaking the Statute, I couldn't believe it either, but there you go. Nine. Thousand."

Firo let out a warning warble. He gulped and tried to mentally communicate the concept of bluffing, which was difficult given how the birdbrain only comprehended visuals, and simple ones at that.

"I suppose I could meet you halfway at eight," he hedged, eyeing at her warily. Firo screeched, and his hands shot up reflexively. "Alright, alright, seven it is! Stupid bird, do you even realize your snacks cost money?"

Firo settled down with a chirp.

Evgenij tore his gaze away from her and beamed. "Then we are in agreement! Please, there's no time to waste—we already have an international Portkey prepared."

His mood soured further. "Hold your Hippogriffs. Tell me about your demon first: size, abilities, everything. I'm not going in blind if I can help it."

"I'm afraid I know as much as you do. Our forces were still following the trail of death the demon left when I departed from St. Petersburg."

His brows furrowed. "But you caught the summoner, right? Surely Russians know how to interrogate."

Evgenij's gave him a strained smile. "We would need to employ the services of a necromancer. The man was discovered dead near the summoning site."

"Oh." He absently scratched his upper arm. "Not much left of the poor bastard, I expect."

"That's the thing," Evgenij said slowly. "I'm told there were no marks of violence, and his face was stuck in an unnerving smile. Our experts are still debating over the cause of death."

"A smile?" Harry rubbed his chin. He had a bad premonition about this.

* * *

The trio's footsteps echoed in the grand entrance hall of the palace that housed the Russian State Council, melding with those of countless others bustling about their business. Ornate marble fireplaces lined the walls, flaring green sporadically to disgorge a functionary or three. Gilded columns stretched toward a vaulted ceiling, where moving frescoes framed in ornate stucco depicted scenes from the country's long and volatile history.

Harry craned his neck at a fresco depicting a gaggle of mermaids perched lakeside and frowned when a flying carpet that carried a group of sightseers passed overhead, blocking the delectable sight. Evgenij accommodated him by slowing down with a knowing smile.

"Magnificent," Su said, her obscuring cowl tilted back. To get that much out of her while on duty, Harry knew she was impressed.

Evgenij allowed them a few minutes of gawking before glancing at his wristwatch. "The meeting starts soon. I will give you a tour after we take care of our little problem, yes?"

A little reluctantly, Harry trailed him to the back of the entrance hall. People streamed in and out of a dozen antique lifts, whose wrought-iron doors parted to reveal velvet benches and crystal chandeliers that tinkled with subtle melodies, but Evgenij ignored them in favor of a hallway farther in. Its marble walls were inlaid with elaborate gold filigree Tony would have no doubt appreciated. A birch tree with meticulously detailed leaves swayed in an unseen wind, and an eagle owl perched in its branches stared as they passed by.

At the end of the hallway was a wide staircase, and descending two floors, they entered a narrower corridor. Marble gave way to beige wallpaper paneled halfway up in scuffed mahogany.

Harry stopped rubbernecking and glanced at Su. He still didn't know how she had managed to convince the Ministry to pick her over the more experienced Unspeakables to accompany him. She had to have been joking when she said she promised her seniors to rein him in so he wouldn't cause an international incident; he wasn't _that _bad, surely.

A checkpoint barred the corridor ahead, but Evgenij flashed a badge, and the guard promptly motioned them through. The diplomat lead them through the labyrinthine corridors with breezy confidence. The deeper they went, the more the surroundings shifted from luxury to functionality: not a place meant to impress outsiders, but one where work was done and decisions were made.

After several disorienting turns of the corridor, they arrived before a door sporting a sign that Harry, predictably, couldn't read. Evgenij knocked, and without waiting to be acknowledged, ushered them into a spacious, if cluttered office.

"Allow me to introduce Mr. Dmitry Fyodorov, the head of our elite forces, the _Okhrana_. As the leader of this operation, he will provide any support you may require."

A bear of a man rose from behind a massive desk and stomped up to Harry and Su to squeeze their hands in greeting. Dwarfing them both put together, Dmitry reminded Harry of Dudley, save for the bulging red nose and the quasi-military uniform adorned with glittering medals.

Dmitry sized him up. "Where is sword?"

"Er, it's a little capricious," he said. "Doesn't like to be wielded unless there's a real need. A safeguard... or maybe old Godric just made it a pain to use for his amusement."

"Bah! I tell Council many times, instead of calling foreigner, they better unseal... _that_." Dmitry sent Evgenij a meaningful look.

Harry gasped dramatically. "No! That could turn the region into a wasteland!"

Dmitry's eyes bulged out. "You know about Koschei's Needle?"

"So it's called Koschei's Needle, eh?" he said, grinning.

Dmitry gaped at him before going red in the face and reaching for the wand holster at his hip.

Evgenij jumped in between them. "Dmitry Dmitrievich, please, Mr. Potter won't speak a word of this"—he glanced pleadingly at Harry—"you won't, yes?"

"Warlock's honor," he said solemnly.

Dmitry glowered at him, then grunted and relaxed his posture. "You can talk, can you fight? You better be good like papers say." Not giving them a second glance, he marched out the door. "Come! _Okhrana_ already wait for you."

Evgenij loosened his collar and exhaled before motioning Harry and Su to follow. Dmitry brought them to a large room down the corridor, where two dozen wizards and witches wearing the same military-style uniforms with cloaks on top sat in orderly rows of chairs. Everyone sprang to their feet to snap off a salute.

Dmitry gestured them to sit, squeezed through an aisle between the seats to the front, where a sprawling map was engraved into the wall, and began speaking in rapid Russian.

Evgenij provided a running translation. "As you all know, in the face of an unprecedented threat... the Council has decided to call for outside help. Our job is to support... these specialists that Britain sends. Fennec of the Unspeakables, the counterpart for our _Agenty_..."

At Dmitry's gesture, twenty heads turned their way. Su nodded, enduring the curious looks with her usual stoicism.

"...And Mr. Potter, the famous Demonslayer wielding one of his nation's most powerful artifacts. As you can plainly see, he is a mighty warlock..."

Evgenij clammed up, and when Harry gave him a questioning glance, wouldn't meet his eyes. Dmitry continued talking. Stifled laughter rippled through the uniformed witches and wizards; some looked Harry up and down and sneered.

Well, as a representative of Britain, he was duty-bound to leave an impression.

Closing his eyes, he thought of warm and cheery fire: a name in the form of image and sensation. Flames whooshed above him, and a familiar weight settled on his shoulder. Turning his head, he gave Firo a rare proud look. Awed murmurs came from the Russians. He smirked and drew himself up to his full height.

Firo swiveled her head before taking off to alight on the back of a chair before a pretty blonde, who gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. You could hear a pin drop as everyone watched with bated breath. Then Firo cocked her head and pecked at the witch's shiny brass buttons, causing her to exclaim and jerk back, and eliciting surprised laughter from the onlookers. Harry slapped his forehead and groaned.

Dmitry barked a command that made everyone face forward, but the blonde's neighbors still shot her sideways glances. The witch herself squirmed in her chair but made no attempt to fight off Firo, who by now had hopped into her lap and continued pecking her buttons with single-minded insistence.

Evgenij cleared his throat sheepishly. "Mr. Fyodorov made a little joke earlier—to lighten the mood, yes? The demon, it has already ravaged three Muggle villages, leaving several dead and, ah, recruiting the rest... It appears to have the ability to enthrall people."

Harry frowned. This was looking worse by the minute.

"To limit the risks of magicals falling under the demon's thrall, the mission will be done by a small, elite team... The local wizards and witches are being evacuated... and magical transportation into Siberia is forbidden to civilians."

Dmitry tapped the map with his wand, and the aforementioned region lit up in red. Harry snorted; it looked like a drawing one might find on a stall door of a public loo.

"Something funny, Potter?" Dmitry growled.

"It's just that Siberia's shaped like, you know..." He gestured vaguely. "Anyone else see it? No?" He coughed. "Never mind. Please continue."

"I see it," Su whispered.

Suppressing another snort, he glanced her way, but she faced forward without any indication of having spoken. He schooled his expression and followed her example. Dmitry glowered at him before pointing at what Harry dubbed the left testicle.

"We will Portkey in half a kilometer from Mikhailovka village," Evgenij translated. "Our scouts are keeping watch... The _Okhrana_ will neutralize the enthralled, while the specialists—that's you—take care of the main threat. The squad leaders will..." He turned to Harry and Su. "Well, I won't bore you with the minutiae. Your only job is to eliminate the demon."

"Only that, huh." Harry could only hope it would be as trivial as he made it sound.

"Indeed," Evgenij said cheerfully. "I shall be accompanying you, just so there are no miscommunications."

Dmitry spoke for a few more minutes and answered some questions. Evgenij piped up on occasion to give them a general idea of what was going on. He clearly took some liberties with the translation, but if the alternative was using Padma's infernal gadget—or worse, cramming Russian—Harry would take the diplomat at his word. Then the noise of chairs scraping the floor filled the room as everyone rose to their feet.

Harry patted his stomach. "Evgenij, mate—point me to the nearest bathroom?"

Evgenij glanced at Dmitry nervously. "Can't it wait? Our Portkey is set to leave soon."

"That's exactly why it can't. Consider it standard procedure." He had nearly suffered an accident during transit to Russia and didn't fancy a repeat.

Looking exasperated, Evgenij motioned him to follow. "Quickly, Mr. Potter."

"Be right back, folks." He waved to the roomful of surly Russians and left whistling a tune.


	13. Russian Expedition, Part 2

Clutching a long rope that served as a Portkey for the entire squad, Harry bent his knees and landed on his feet without stumbling too much. He was still a bull in a china shop compared to Su, who looked like she had simply stepped from one place to another.

They stood atop a hillock sparsely covered with trees. Birds twittered overhead, the sun beat down, and a cool but decidedly not frigid breeze ruffled the hem of his robes. He tugged self-consciously at the scarf around his neck. At least he had skipped the ushanka.

"_This_ is Siberia?" he said. A yellowing grassland stretched from the hill toward an grotty little village and then as far as the eye could see. Never mind a blizzard, there wasn't even a fleck of snow. It felt like he was being cheated.

Evgenij chuckled. "I keep telling you, Mr. Potter, it's barely autumn. Old women's summer, yes?"

"Indian," Su translated.

Sighing, Harry unwrapped his scarf and unbuttoned his collar. Fabric could only take so many enchantments before they started bleeding off, so he had prioritized protection over comfort. Even then, his current robes were a pale imitation of those he had worn in the last battle. With his malletspace out of commission, it was the best he could do.

Dmitry gave a command in a harsh undertone. His underlings veiled the hilltop in concealing magic and swiftly spread out to take up positions behind the trees on the side of the hill overlooking the village, somehow managing, despite their blue uniforms, to blend in with nature. Everybody retrieved Omnioculars from leather cases on their belts and directed them at the settlement.

A man nearby gave a low whistle. "_Nu i siski._" His female colleague retorted, causing him to mumble what sounded like an apology.

Harry shielded his eyes from the sun. About half a mile ahead, a handful of wooden houses squatted around a dirt road that meandered across the plain alongside a row of slanting poles off which electrical lines hung precariously. A herd of skinny cows grazed in a withered pasture nearby. He sidestepped to see around a tree. A commotion was taking place in a square before a church with an onion-shaped dome, but it was difficult to make out the details with the naked eye.

"Friendlies?" Su asked, her twiggy wand in hand.

He swung his head to where she was looking and saw a shimmering silhouette slide down a tree. The Russians displayed no alarm as it plodded up the hill and solidified into a blue-uniformed man. Dmitry returned his salute and asked something.

Evgenij spoke behind Harry's shoulder, startling him. "Our scouts have been monitoring the village since morning. Upon arrival, the demon enlisted every able man into its mob of followers and locked up the rest. Since then, it has been... enjoying itself, they say."

"Just the men, huh." This didn't bode well.

Dmitry nodded to the scout, and walking up to Harry and Su, produced two pairs of Omnioculars. "Here. Plan is: we clear way, you destroy demon. Simple plan always best. But first, I hear your expert opinion."

Harry lifted the Omnioculars to his glasses and was rewarded with a crystal clear view of the village. The streets were as deserted as the square before the church was packed. Motley men holding scythes, pitchforks, and an occasional assault rifle stood guard at the perimeter, their gazes straying periodically toward the middle of the square, where something of an improvised throne was fashioned out of a car seat. On it reclined a woman of unearthly beauty, waited upon by half a dozen men, who appeared ecstatic to be in her presence.

He gripped the Omnioculars tighter. The woman was tall, curvaceous, and clad in leather straps that exposed tantalizing expanses of tan skin. The strap covering her gravity-defying breasts seemed to be holding on by magic alone. Twin curved horns poked through her flowing burgundy hair, and black wings folded behind her back. Her ears were long and pointy, and her eyes shone a rich carmine. As she uncrossed and recrossed her hoof-tipped legs, he was treated to a glimpse of her black thong.

"It is as I feared," he said grimly.

"It is a very powerful demon?" Evgenij asked apprehensively.

"Worse—she's damned hot." He fiddled with the Omnioculars' knobs. "How do you record on this thing?"

Behind him, Dmitry harrumphed. "You see anything _useful_?"

"Not yet," he said absently as he located the knob to crank up the zoom. The succubus plucked a grape off a bunch offered by an attendant and popped it into her mouth, licking her plump lips with a forked tongue. He swallowed. "I need to observe her for a while. Gotta find her, you know, weaknesses."

There was a pinch on his forearm, and Su's enchanted cowl loomed inches from his face. He jerked back.

"Focus," she said quietly.

"Hey, it's not every day that I get to ogle—er, study a being from another plane. We ought to thoroughly document everything."

Su remained silent.

"Oh, _come on_," he whispered, glancing cagily at the Russians. "When will I ever get an opportunity like this again?"

She was still for a moment, then leaned to his ear. "I could wear leather."

His neck cricked as he whirled to face her. "Y-you..." He jerked his chin at the village. "_That_?"

Drawing back, she nodded. "Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr. Potter."

"Alright!" Springing up, he clapped his hands. "I'm done with the reconnaissance. What are we dawdling for?"

Dmitry glowered. "We wait for _you_."

Evgenij cleared his throat. "May I expound on the plan, Dmitry Dmitrievich?" Receiving a grunt of assent, he continued, "_Okhrana _will erect an Anti-Flight Jinx over the area and Apparate in in two teams. These will advance on the square from opposite sides and neutralize the mob. It is said that demons avoid churches, so it should only have one direction left to flee—and that's where you intercept her. Simple, yes?"

"Don't let it touch you," Dmitry added. "If it enslaves one wizard, with his magic it can enslave more, and more... Understand?"

"A snowball effect," Su murmured.

Dmitry nodded. "We use Portkey if it get close. Potter, handle demon until we finish. Then, if you not done, we blast it from far and you stab it with sword."

"Er, easy on the blasting, please," he said. "Throw some Patronuses at her; it worked on the last one."

The Russians exchanged a glance. "That's good to know, Mr. Potter," Evgenij said, while Dmitry turned to relay the instructions to his underlings. "Are you ready?"

Glancing regretfully toward the village, he shut his eyes and called Firo. It only took her a second to flame in and settle on his shoulder. Combined with the balmy weather, the warmth she radiated made him sweat.

"Fetch me the sword, girl. We're going to take out the big bad demon, just like you wanted."

Firo squawked and tilted her head.

"Mr. Potter?" Evgenij said.

His cheeks heated up. "Just give me a minute."

Closing his eyes again, he recalled the ridges of the ornate hilt against his palm, the gleam of the blade, the weight. He imagined gripping the sword tight and thrusting it... He exhaled. No, not at that vision of beauty. Thrusting it at a demon so ugly and misshapen that it _had_ to be evil.

Firo flamed away. Inhaling the instantly cooler air, he maintained the image of the Sword of Gryffindor in his mind lest the birdbrain forget her task midway. Communicating with a phoenix was an imprecise art, and the fact that Firo was so—well, _dumb—_only exacerbated the issue.

Impatient murmurs began to spread among the Russians by the time a fireball above announced Firo's return. Trilling happily, she dived at him, in one foot clutching the pommel of the sword, and in the other something black and fluffy.

He yelped and dodged, and the blade whizzed past his ear instead of lopping it off. Slipping out of Firo's talons, it revolved once before twanging into a nearby pine. Firo plopped on his shoulder and rubbed her head against his cheek.

"Now look what you've done!" His gaze fell on the other item she had brought. "What's this?"

Prying the semicircle of flexible material out of her talons, he stared. Two fluffy triangles jutted out from its sides at an angle, black on the outside and white on the inside. No matter how he looked at it, it was a cat-ear headband. A curled scrap of parchment dangled from a string tied to one end; ripping it off, he straightened it.

_In case of an emergency. -H_

"Is this her idea of a joke?" he muttered. "Does this look enchanted, Su—_Fennec_?" He winced at his slip-up.

Her hand rose to her cowl and formed a 'V'. "Yes... but I can't tell how."

"Well, you hold on to it." He handed the headband over. "I'll go get the sword before our friends lose their patience."

The Russians had separated into two groups, their faces resolute, their polished brass buttons shining in the sun. The orderly uniformed rows inspired confidence. He tried not to think about how their victory would mean the succubus's demise.

Their stares prickled his back as he approached the sword. It was stuck deep. He braced a foot against the trunk, gripped the hilt with both hands, and heaved it up.

The blade cleaved through the trunk like a knife through butter, and losing his balance, he staggered back. A crack resounded as the tree snapped at the cut and toppled to the base of the hill. He didn't need Omnioculars to tell that the crash had attracted the attention of the people—and the demoness—in the village ahead.

He sucked in air through his teeth. "Welp."

After an instant of stunned silence, the hilltop erupted in chaos.

"_Poshli, poshli!_" Dmitry roared. Half of his forces aimed their wands toward the village and began chanting.

Evgenij wrung his hands. "Mr. Potter, what have you _done_—"

"Follow plan," Dmitry growled, pushing the diplomat aside. "Anti-Flight in ten seconds, then go."

"She has a hostage," Su said, peering through her Omnioculars.

Dropping the sword, Harry clinked his pair against his glasses. The men in the square were tilting their heads back to peer at the sky. His stomach sank when he followed their gazes: the succubus was in flight, clutching a young boy in her arms.

"_Suka blyat!_" Lowering his Omnioculars, Dmitry bellowed an order, and the chanting stopped.

With gritted teeth, Harry watched the demoness ascend higher and higher until she turned her back on the village and soared away. It was his fault—he had to do _something_—

Firo's talons stabbing into his shoulder was his only warning before he was engulfed in a golden blaze. His cry of alarm made no sound, and his reflexive inhalation drew no air. He didn't have time to marvel at how the flames weren't hurting him before he crashed face-first into something warm and squishy.

Feeling gravity take hold, he instinctively grabbed on before realizing he was hugging the succubus. His grip loosened in shock, and he slid down to her shapely legs before clutching them for dear life.

With his added weight, the tangled mess of limbs that was the succubus, her hostage, and he plunged to the grassy plain below. Her leathery wings beat furiously but could not keep them aloft. Shrieking, she shoved the hostage away and slammed her knee into his chin.

His neck snapped back and his grip broke. He plummeted, scrabbling in his pockets but not finding his wand. Throwing his limbs out, wind tearing at his robes, he screamed for help, accidental magic, _anything—_

Mere feet from the ground, heat washed over him, and his momentum vanished. Craning his neck, he saw Firo clutching the back of his robes. She trilled and let go, and he fell heavily on his stomach, the impact driving the air from his lungs.

He rolled onto his back, then sat up with effort, his limbs shaking. "Firo, you little..."

The rebuke died on his lips as he recalled the hostage. He shot to his feet, _now _finding his wand, and looked around. The yellowish grassland extended toward the village on one side and a distant stand of trees on the other, empty of people, dead or otherwise.

Releasing a breath, he looked at Firo with newfound gratitude. "Well done, birdbrain."

Firo hopped his way, flapped her wings, then proceeded to cheep and scurry around like a headless chicken.

"What's wrong?" he asked, bewildered.

Louder wingbeats came from above, and tilting his head back, he gaped at the falling demoness. _The Anti-Flight Jinx_. Her wings worked frantically but produced no lift, and she gained speed all the way down. The impact was such that he felt it through the soles of his shoes.

He raised his wand and took a hesitant step toward her prone form, hardly daring to hope the fall had done her in. Firo hopped at his heels like some bizarre imitation of a dog.

The succubus stood and dusted herself off as though after a minor tumble down the stairs. Raw bruises marred her tan skin, but they were healing before his very eyes. She flapped her wings experimentally and folded them. Her slit pupils narrowed at Firo before she raised her gaze to him and flashed her brilliant white teeth.

"_Otkuda ty upal, krasavchik? Kak tebya zovut?_" She tossed her hair back and sauntered toward him, her cloven hooves leaving prints in the damp earth.

"You can speak?" he blurted out, his gaze wandering to her barely haltered breasts and swaying hips.

She laughed. "I speak, I touch, I love. Like you... better than you." Halting a short distance away, she planted a hand on her hip and stuck out her chest. "Those I embrace experience ecstasy unlike any other. Become mine, and I shall fulfill your wildest fantasies."

He gawked until something stabbed his shin. Glancing gratefully at Firo, who pressed low to the ground and _hissed_, he trained his wand on the succubus.

"You wouldn't hurt me, would you?" Batting her eyelashes, she sashayed closer. "I mean you no harm—quite the contrary."

Something in her husky voice made him want to listen to it forever. He stepped back, shaking his head. "Don't get any closer—Expecto Patronum!"

He had never seen the silvery octopus move this fast. Its translucent tentacles wrapped the succubus in an obscene embrace and caressed her skin with such delight that he found himself envious. Only when she hugged herself and moaned, not in pain but quite the opposite, did he catch on that something was wrong.

She opened her mouth and _slurped_, swallowing the unresisting Patronus like a giant silvery noodle. Her forked tongue darted out to lick her lips. "Such delicious, _virile_ emotions. Oh, I'm falling for you, darling. What's your name?"

He gaped, more than a little distracted by her trembling in what appeared to be pleasure. "What the—it hurt the last guy!"

"The last..." Her gaze flicked to Firo, widening. "So it was _you_ who summoned Azazel only to cast him down again! His defeat reverberated across Gehenna—to see the arrogant brute fall from grace was immensely satisfying, let me tell you." She fixed him with a considering look. "Your power must be prodigious indeed. Join me, and together we shall plunder the riches of this world."

"Oh no, I've read about your kind." The reminder that she came from the same place as _that creature_ cleared his head somewhat. "I'll be used as a food source... which, I admit, might not be too bad... until you get bored and discard me, that is."

"It is only the weaklings who perish—and even they are happy to serve, feeling nothing but bliss in their last moments." She smiled sultrily and cupped her breasts like an offering. "Someone of your strength will surely be able to keep up with me."

He sighed ruefully. "That's exactly why I'm going to take you down. Nothing personal, but we can't have you draining those luck—_poor_ men to death."

Her face contorted in anger, but it only made her look more alluring. "You'll regret spurning me."

Cocking her arm back, she lobbed a palmful of crimson flames. He reflexively erected a _Protego_ before a horrific shriek made him flatten himself on the ground. The hellfire tore through the shield and went on to turn a swath of grass far behind to lifeless ash.

His heart raced as he rose to his feet. She sneered and flung up her arms, conjuring more hellfire. As the fireball grew in size, the maddened shrieks intensified, twisted faces appearing and vanishing in the blaze.

Firo scurried to the front, rose on her spindly legs, and screeched. Snarling, the succubus launched the fireball. Harry was preparing to Apparate when Firo spread her wings as if to take the hellfire head-on; he whisked his wand upward to erect an earthen barrier.

The barrier exploded into black powder, clouding his vision. Pressing a sleeve to his nose, he took aim at the hazy figure ahead.

"Confringo!"

She danced away, and the blast only threw up a gout of dirt. He didn't let up, but she batted his hexes aside with her wings. Spell resistance, if not powerful enough to shrug off everything.

A fierce chirping broke his concentration, and he saw Firo skitter across the pockmarked ground toward the succubus.

"Get back here!" he yelled.

The momentary lull in spellfire was all the succubus needed: spreading her hands, she spawned a sheet of crimson flames before her. His curses splashed against the hellfire and were devoured.

Firo closed in, chirping up a storm. The demoness growled and flung the shrieking flames at her. His heart leapt to his throat when Firo was consumed, but then golden flames burst above the succubus, and the phoenix swooped down at her with talons extended.

The demoness pivoted away and swiped her claws at her. Firo squawked and beat her wings futilely before bursting into flames and reappearing above to drop like a taloned feathery lump.

Harry let loose a hail of jinxes. The succubus twirled and contorted, blocking the lighter attacks with her wings and evading the rest, yet a lucky Impediment Jinx got through, briefly slowing her.

"Osteofragis," he spat.

His stomach sank as Firo flamed in for another dive just when the curse left his wand. The jet of white clipped her wing, and she collapsed on the grass, squawking.

"Shit!" He jabbed his wand to shield her, but she vanished and reappeared on his shoulder to peck his ear. "Ouch! My bad, my bad! Get to Su, she'll patch you up—and bring me the sword!"

Heat washed over his face as she departed. Raising his wand, he faced the succubus. She was holding palmfuls of crimson fire and regarding him with her chin raised high.

"So much for the vermin's vaunted loyalty. Last chance, human. Prostrate yourself before me and plead for mercy."

His lips curled. "Tempting, but I'll pass."

She shrugged. "So be it. You will become the latest voice in my chorus of the damned."

Her arms shot forward, unleashing streams of cursed flames that pincered him from both sides. Holding his breath, he Apparated to reemerge some distance to her side. Before his brain fully came to terms with the sudden relocation, he spat off a curse.

She whirled aside and chucked a firebolt his way. His eyes scrunched as he conjured a block of wood in its path; the flames devoured it and vanished with a howl. He breathed easier. This was nothing compared to the torrents that _Azazel _had belched out.

Phoenix song rang as Firo burst in, clutching the Sword of Gryffindor in her talons. The song became an indignant caw when she promptly plummeted until the blade sank into the soil and she fell off the pommel and onto the grass.

He broke into a run even as he pelted the succubus with jinxes. Coming to a halt before the sword, he transferred his wand to his left hand and tugged on the hilt with his right.

A ravenous firebolt hurtled at him, its crimson hue reflecting in the blade. Obeying a strange impulse, he swung at the incoming projectile, and the shriek cut off as the sword absorbed the hellfire. The succubus's eyes widened.

Allowing himself a smirk, he advanced. Uncertainty crossed her face, and she backtracked, windmilling her arms to barrage him with firebolts. Pocketing his wand to add another hand to the hilt, he swept the sword through the air, and the hellfire dissipated. Firo's mocking warble accompanied his own laughter.

The succubus planted her hooves and bared her fangs. The nails of her splayed fingers lengthened into obsidian claws that made his right arm itch.

His grip on the hilt tightened. If she was too proud to run, that made things all the easier. All he had to do was pierce her heart: the nigh-indestructible crystal that allowed demons to take corporeal form on Earth.

Her wiry limbs coiled like a spring as her eyes tracked his approach. Two more steps, and she lunged.

Leaping back from her spinning kick, he retaliated with a stab that came short. She pirouetted around the blade to rake a claw across his ribs. Howling, he slashed at her and forced her to retreat.

Her wings whipped up a gust that made him blink. An instant later, his feet were swept from underneath him, and he fell, swinging wildly as he did. She yanked back the claws that had been aimed at his throat with a frustrated snarl.

He sprang to his feet. Recalling something he had seen on the telly, he slashed diagonally, then rotated the sword and came back from the other side. The tip of the blade shore off a lock of her hair, and she flinched back.

The blade whistled through the air, tracing a figure-eight over and over. He felt like a monkey swinging a stick, but graceless as his swordsmanship was, the succubus retreated, peering at him warily.

He feigned a thrust, then raised the sword overhead and swung, missing by an inch. With a jolt, he realized he could actually win, but the realization only made him squeamish. His next swing was sluggish, and the demoness capitalized on it by darting in and slicing a gash across his chest.

"What's wrong, warrior?" she taunted, evading his counterblow. "Is that fatigue I sense? Or perhaps... reluctance?"

He touched his chest and irritably wiped his slick fingers on his robes. The wounds stung, but he could tell they were shallow. Adjusting his grip, he tried to inject his voice with confidence. "I'm going to finish this."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

Exhaling, he evened his breathing. His mind began to settle, and the pain of his cuts retreated, acknowledged but not dwelled upon. Pointing the blade down, he stalked forward.

Her claws exploded toward him, but he parried with a flick of his wrist, and she reeled backward. He advanced. She gasped and unfurled her wings, stumbling when her attempt to take off failed. His blade whistled through the air and finally connected, leaving a gash along her upper arm.

She bled red.

Shaking off his momentary stupefaction, he pressed his advantage. His swings acquired a machine-like precision, and his face must've looked like it was set in stone, but even Occlumency couldn't keep at bay his remorse.

He tilted his head, allowing her claws to whoosh by, and responded with a thrust at her shoulder. She ducked, and the blade only severed a leather strap, baring more skin. He squared his jaw.

Her hooves slipped on the dewy grass and she fell on her rump. He dashed in with the sword aloft even as his inner voice screamed that someone this beautiful was not to be harmed. When his shaking hands rotated the sword to deliver the final blow, he could no longer bear looking. Squeezing his eyes shut, he stabbed down.

He stumbled forward as the blade sank in without resistance. A rush of displaced air buffeted him, and his eyes flew open to witness a very much alive succubus pushing off with her wings to flip onto her hands. To his shame, he felt relieved—at least until her hoof hurtled at his forehead.

Then he only felt pain.

"Gah!" Blinking the stars out of his vision, he brandished the sword before him. Blood trickled into his eyes, and the moment he lifted his sleeve to wipe, she darted around the blade and thrust her claws at his neck.

Ducking, he stabbed at her. Her wing unfurled with a whip-like snap, propelling her aside even as her hooves never left the ground. She dodged another slash before leaping up in a flying kick.

He avoided her hoof but was unprepared for the ropy tail lashing out at his face. His eyes shut reflexively, and when he opened them, she was inside his guard. He desperately turned the blade, then froze when a razor-sharp claw pressed to his neck.

"Got you," she whispered.

Hardly daring to breathe, he swiveled his eyes to watch her claw creep almost gently his neck. Then her other hand dug into his hair and yanked him in for a kiss.

Her lips were hot, and her forked tongue doubly so. Everywhere her body touched his burned. The hilt slipped from his fingers, and before he knew it, he was embracing her of his own accord. She moaned against his mouth, and his consciousness drowned in a pleasant haze.

When she drew back, he almost keened with the loss. Her scent of burning wood and spice was sweeter than anything, and he longed to bury his face in the crook of her neck and breathe it in forever.

She nudged him away. "This is but a taste, darling. Let us continue once we're free of the interlopers."

He looked around in confusion and anger. A phoenix bounded toward them, its wings flapping stupidly and its beak ajar in a discordant screech. The very idea that it would dare assault his Mistress offended him to his core. Grabbing the sword, he swiped at the bird.

An instant before the blade could connect, the phoenix vanished in a ball of fire. Seeking out Mistress's eyes, he hoisted his weapon proudly, but it grew impossibly heavy in his hand. He let go with a cry and stared at his blistered palms.

"Poor thing," Mistress crooned, lifting his hand to kiss it. "Let me show you just how grateful I am."

His burns hurt at her touch, yet he smiled contentedly, preferring that painful contact over none. He stepped closer, his mind awhirl with daydreams of the promised reward.

A series of Apparition cracks heralded another interruption. He clenched his fists so hard his nails drew blood. They dared—_they dared_—

"Mr. Potter! We rounded up the villagers, but they're still under her thrall. Mr. Potter? Why are you..."

Harry's eyes flicked to the one called Evgenij, discarded him as a threat, and scanned the blue-uniformed rows behind. His pulse drummed with anticipation.

"Don't waste breath, Zhenya," Dmitry growled. "Potter is thrall."

"_Harry_?" said a female voice.

Startled for no reason he could place, he swiveled his head in search of the speaker, but his agitation evaporated when a soft hand reached from behind to caress his cheek.

"Won't you please protect me from these ruffians, darling? I know it wasn't the full extent of your strength that you used against me. Show me what you're capable of."

Guilt crushed him at the reminder that he had raised his weapon against her, but when she planted a kiss on his jaw, he knew his transgression was forgiven. While his enemies eyed him with varying degrees of wariness, he faced them with a smile. His wand found its way into his hand, and he flourished it in a challenge.

Dmitry spat. "I tell them calling foreigner is mistake. Make it easy, Potter, or we hurt you."

"We need him, Dmitry Dmitrievich—he's the only one who can wield the sword!" Evgenij stepped forward and waved his hands. "Mr. Potter, snap out of it, please!"

Harry's smile widened; now the largest cluster of enemies couldn't attack lest they hit that fool in the back. He jabbed his wand at the ground before them. "Confringo!"

Empowered by his desire to protect the one most dear to him, the curse blew Evgenij and several others off their feet; most did not stand up. Mistress's laughter rang in his ears like the sweetest music, and he stepped forth, eager to prove himself.

A white-hot arc clashed against his timely _Protego_. Canceling the shield, he strode toward the enemy firing a mishmash of hexes. The Russians did little but defend and yell in their incomprehensible language.

A twirl of his wand dismantled a shield and a swish cursed its owner to suffocate. The wizard's eyes bulged out and he scrabbled at his throat before grabbing one of his brass buttons and vanishing in a blur of a Portkey. Harry's Shieldbreaker already zoomed toward his next victim.

Seeing more of their number fall, the Russians formed up into ranks, the front erecting overlapping shields and the back launching Stunners. He spun on his heel and reappeared behind the formation to unleash a gale that scattered his enemies like bowling pins.

He methodically cursed three of the fallen before the remaining troops found their feet. Spreading out in a semicircle, their formation bristled with wands, and spellfire flew his way.

Barking a laugh, he Apparated a dozen meters to the side and nailed a witch at the edge with a Paralysis Curse. The Russians homed in on his new location, and the shield he erected crumbled. A Cutter grazed his arm, making him wince, but he could tell the enchantments on his robes had taken the brunt of it. That the enemy had switched to lethal force was of no consequence.

He ran perpendicular to their diminished ranks, jets of light fanning out from his wand. Between his poor aim and their deft shielding, his curses found no targets.

A scream reached his ears, and he skidded to a halt, not even blinking when a lance of energy passed inches above his head. Beyond the row of shimmering shields, Mistress danced in battle, wreathed in flames.

He Apparated in without a second thought. The air was thick with sulfur and hostile magic. His Mistress stood tall and proud, fending off attacks from a stray group, and for a moment, he was struck by how majestic she looked.

A jet of angry yellow tore into her wing, and she screamed.

"Forgive me!" he cried, leaping between her and the attackers. Heedless of the curses hurtling at him, he snarled, "Expulso!"

The explosion rocked the field, leaving nothing but a crater; the cowards must've fled. The main force reoriented themselves and marched closer. He spun his wand between his fingers. Should he incapacitate them, so that his Mistress would have more faithful to serve her? The idea of sharing her love made him shudder in revulsion, and he mentally begged her forgiveness for being so selfish.

She caught his eye and gave him a fanged smile. "They hurt me, darling." Her wing fluttered, already healing. "You won't let this pass, will you?"

He glared righteously at the approaching enemy. Some remained behind to evacuate the fallen, and he had to tamp down his irritation at them getting away. What was important was that they were no longer here to hurt _her_.

The enemies' wands lit up. He flicked his wrist, raising an earthen barricade, but the spellfire wrecked it, showering him and Mistress with dirt. As he coughed and sputtered, a conjured whirlwind rose up, tugging at his sleeves and making it difficult to breathe.

Blinking painfully against the particles of dirt, he staggered toward his Mistress. What felt like a troll's punch smashed into his back, sending him stumbling into her arms, but more than pain, he felt jubilant about taking the curse in her stead. Hugging her, he spun on the spot.

It felt like running into a brick wall. Teetering back, he clutched his head. The whirlwind gained force, blackening as it tore up the soil. Angry jets of light lanced from the other side; one slugged him in the stomach, making him double over and no doubt destroying whatever was left of the protections on his robes.

He saw red. His wand grew hot as he traced a pentacle in the air and growled an incantation that, for a moment, drowned out even the howling wind. Orange streaks of flame erupted from his wand and swelled into fiery dragons, hydras, and basilisks.

The Fiendfyre obliterated the whirlwind in a scorching blast and rolled down the field. A chimera burst out of the river of flame, gave a furious roar, and doubled back at him. He thrust his wand forward in silent command, but more flaming beasts spread in every direction. His hand trembled. He had fed too much anger into the curse, allowed it to proliferate too quickly.

Mistress's hand rested atop his, and his trembling ceased. What was there to be afraid of? Unlike the flames she wielded, this pathetic imitation was but mindless fury.

With a flourish, he sicced the Fiendfyre upon itself. The beasts howled and lunged at one another, biting and clawing and melding into a great fiery gyre. It spun faster and faster as it shrunk until only a white-hot ball the size of a Quaffle remained. Sweat dripped down his brow, but his lips stretched into a victorious smile as he extinguished it with a flick.

He wiped his brow. The plain before him was charred, but among the ashes, a patch of grass stood out, ensconced in a translucent amethyst cube. Huddling underneath was all that remained of the enemy.

A blue-uniformed woman took the front, her wand poised to cast. Behind her stood the one named Dmitry, his lips moving in what had to be the chant hindering Apparition. Barely reaching up to his shoulder was a grey-robed witch holding up a metallic cube with both hands. Despite her face being obscured by darkness, it felt as though she was staring at Harry in accusation.

Fixing his gaze on Dmitry, he strode closer. Take him out, and Harry could flee with his Mistress and revel in the rewards he deserved. No doubt her caress would take away these muddled feelings of guilt.

His wand traced a curvy pattern, and a spiral of green energy impacted the cube, causing but a ripple along its amethyst surface. The Russians glanced at the witch clutching the metal cube.

Eyebrows rising, he recast the spell as his unhurried steps brought him closer. The second and third Shieldbreakers too fizzled out against the cube. The fools inside jabbered, no doubt thinking themselves safe. How irksome.

He considered a Killing Curse, but somehow, it felt wrong. Surely that was because he wanted to savor the terror of his foes, he told himself, not because he harbored any clemency. No matter. His Mistress would soon make everything simple and beautiful again.

Casting his gaze beyond the charred area, he located an unconscious _Okhrana_ wizard. He sketched the diamond of a Stunning Spell before adding a sinuous curl that shaped the energies into a flexible strand. The crackling crimson whip undulated loosely until a flick of his wrist snapped it to wrap around the unconscious wizard's ankle.

Flashing the fools inside the cube a savage grin, he reeled in the body before swinging his arm forward. The wizard hurtled at the amethyst barrier and impacted it with a sickening crunch. Harry's grin widened at the horrified exclamations, and he drew his arm back for another go.

_Crunch_.

_Smack._

_Crunch_.

"_Bozhe moy, on ego ubyot_!" cried the _Okhrana_ witch. She grappled with the grey-robe for the metallic cube, and it fell on the grass.

The amethyst shield crumbled with a sound like breaking glass. Cocking his arm back, Harry flung the body at the trio; the witch slowed its momentum with a frantic wave of her wand, but the blue missile still slammed into her, knocking them both down. Harry's crimson whip flew toward them, but Dmitry ceased his chant and deflected it. Behind him, the fallen vanished in a blur.

Snarling, Harry retracted the whip and lashed it at the metallic cube the grey-robe had been reaching for to fling it farther afield. At a jerk of his wand, the whip then coiled around Dmitry's ankle, and the man collapsed like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Harry laughed as he tossed the limp body aside and raised his wand for another attack, but his deranged mirth evaporated at the sight of the grey-robed witch. His wand hand sagged, jerked up, sagged again. The whip sizzled in the ashes and faded.

Footfalls came from behind, and his nostrils flared at the heady scent of his Mistress. Her bosom pressed to his back, and the bloodlust drained from him, replaced by a different kind of hunger. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on the—the _interloper_, who just stood there defiantly.

Mistress embraced him from behind. "Truly, I exchanged a handful of pawns for a rook. These were no ordinary magicians, yet you've exceeded them all. Watching you deal with them was intoxicating."

He inhaled deeply and basked in her praise.

"Yet you have left your task unfinished." A nail raked his cheek, causing him to flinch—not from the pain, but from the anguish of having disappointed her. "She is of no use to me. Dispose of her."

His wand came up, inch by inch, to point at the witch. It was shaking badly, and he tensed his muscles to steady it. One last foe, and...

The witch pulled back her cowl, and the warm autumn sun illuminated her pale skin, delicate features, and inky hair tied in a ponytail. His heart skipped a beat. _Su_. She was... To him, she used to be... He bit the inside of his cheek. That was no longer important.

"Oh my. Do I sense a lingering attachment?" Mistress's lips brushed his earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine. "There is no need to hesitate, my darling... my brave, strong knight. You have me now." Her voice gained an edge. "Do not keep me waiting."

"Don't give in, Harry!" Su called. "Remember your Occlumency!"

He wrenched his gaze from hers in discomfort.

"Appealing to his conscious mind is futile, girl. I dominate men through their base instincts—their deepest carnal desires." Mistress stroked his cheek, and he unconsciously leaned into the touch. "And he desires _me_."

"That so," Su said.

Her fingers flew over the buttons of her robes, parting them to reveal a white shirt and a pencil skirt. She dipped her hand into her pocket to withdraw the cat-ear headband before shrugging off the robes. Reaching back, she loosened the ribbon holding her ponytail, and her silky black hair billowed free.

Mistress's laughter rang through the field. "Do you intend to challenge a succubus at her own game? Even if my darling truly cared for you, this is no fairy tale: no _true love_ can break my control."

"You talk too much," Su remarked as she slipped on the headband. It blended with her hair so perfectly that the fluffy ears looked like they belonged atop her head. After a moment's hesitation, she undid the top two buttons of her shirt.

Harry swallowed, his eyes roving over her slender form, her faintly flushed cheeks, her hair that flowed around her face with the breeze. His stomach roiled at the thought of betraying his Mistress, but he was unable to tear his gaze away.

Su leaned forward and arched her hands as if they were paws. The blush in her cheeks deepened, and she opened and closed her mouth several times.

"_Nyaa,_" she said at last, pawing at the air.

The scales fell from his eyes. Breaking out of the demoness's embrace, he ran toward the heavenly vision. A few steps away, he spread his arms wide, nearly weeping in happiness.

He wept for real when Su slapped him. Falling on his arse, he rubbed his stinging cheek. For her size, she packed quite a punch.

"I wasn't enthralled anymore!"

"I know," Su said stonily.

"It wasn't my fault!" No man would've done better in his shoes, someone as rational as Su had to see that. "She's just so—I mean, her kind literally evolved to seduce men!"

"You held back." Her lip trembled. "When she stabbed your neck, I thought..."

Scrambling to his feet, he extended a hand toward her. "I'm sorry—"

She shook her head. "I know it's difficult." Her gaze fixed on something over his shoulder, and her expression hardened. "But don't forget what she is."

Releasing a shaky breath, he wheeled around. The succubus gaped at them as if petrified. Despite her bending him to her will, he still couldn't muster a shred of animosity, so when Su stepped up and lifted her wand, he nudged it down.

"Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

"Then follow." Ignoring her askance look, he strode to where the Sword of Gryffindor lay halfway between them and the succubus.

The demoness rediscovered her gift of speech. "_How_? How can a mere mortal throw off my thrall?" Crimson flames shrieked above her splayed hands.

He stooped to grasp the bejeweled hilt, and with the sword loose at his side, walked to meet her. His casual demeanor was at odds with his inner turmoil. He missed the clarity that had suffused him when he battled the _Okhrana_, but he deserved a choice of his own will... and so did she.

The succubus raised her hands, but he spoke before she could attack. "I've got a proposition."

The hellfire in her palms flickered. "You are hardly in a position to negotiate. I'm not confined to a circle, and my powers are unbound."

"Yet you're talking instead of trying to incinerate me." He pointed the blade at her, making her stiffen. Despite its shallowness, the cut on her shoulder hadn't healed.

She considered him, then extinguished her fires and tossed back her hair. "You do hold a potent bargaining chip. Let me hear your offer, human."

He laid the sword flat atop his shoulder. "It's simple and mutually beneficial. Swear an Unbreakable Vow not to enslave or kill humans, and I'll protect you from anyone who wishes you harm." He ran his eyes over her. "I'll also be happy to, uh, tend to your needs."

Her lips parted in surprise. "Demons have been the scourge of humanity for millennia before your puny magic grew in sophistication enough to banish us, yet you offer me refuge?" She peered behind him. "What would your minder say, hmm?"

"She's not—" He bit back his protest when he realized that was exactly why the Ministry had sent Su along. "Not everyone understands the beauty of your existence like I do. Don't worry, people will come to terms with you being a demon if I can convince them you're harmless."

Her nostrils flared, and she stood silent for several seconds. "And if you cannot?"

"Then we'll fight our way out of the country and find one where they don't care if you have horns and hooves." He shrugged at her incredulous stare. "I mean it."

She threw her head back in laughter. "This is too much! I lost count of the times I was summoned to your plane, but no one ever offered me protection voluntarily."

"Do you accept, then?" He tapped the tip of the blade against his shoulder.

Her slit-pupil eyes contemplated him. "Yes... yes, how could I refuse such benevolence? Come bind me, darling." She smiled broadly and raised her empty palms.

He flipped the sword and stabbed it into the soil—he really had to find a scabbard for it one of these days—then eyed the succubus. She remained still, save for her spade-tipped tail wagging behind her back. Letting go of the hilt, he cautiously came closer.

Su held him back by his robes. "Are you _serious_?"

He turned around and was met with a wand in his face. "Su—"

"You're still under her charm."

"You said you _trusted_ me," he hissed. Glancing back, he saw the demoness observing with an amused air. "She agreed to give up preying on humans—the things we could learn from her, your department would be delighted—"

Su's cat ears flattened against her head. "I don't trust _her_."

"Hence the Vow. This is the only way to solve this without bloodshed." His shoulders drooped. "I can't... I won't fight her, not unless I absolutely have to."

The wand before his nose wavered.

"Su, please. We need a Binder."

She whisked her wand away. "You and your damn monster girl thing."

Exhaling in relief, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Thank you."

She shrugged it off but nevertheless followed him toward the demoness, who had waited for them to iron out their differences like the epitome of patience.

The demoness's gaze flicked to Su's headband. "To overcome my control, this must be a powerful artifact indeed... but I do not understand the appeal of these fluffy appendages."

"There's a lot you don't understand," Su said.

The succubus bared her fangs. "Watch your mouth, little girl."

Harry shot Su a chiding look. "Now, now, we'll have time to discuss humanity's cultural achievements later."

He held out his left hand with the palm facing sideways. The demoness clasped it. Her skin was smooth and hot, and with her scent tickling his nose, he had to turn to Occlumency to focus.

"This is usually done between humans, but it should work," he said. "What's your name?"

The demoness leveled her gaze at him. "Lilith."

Su asked, "Is it?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I would not lie to the only person to offer me sanctuary."

He cleared his throat. "Alright, then... Su, if you would."

Her wand rose haltingly over their clasped hands. Keeping a vigilant eye on the succubus, she mouthed something to herself. He resisted the urge to hurry her; the Russians could return with reinforcements any minute, but the Vow needed to be foolproof. He squirmed with embarrassment as his palm started to sweat. Lilith's body temperature was clearly higher than his.

Drawing a breath, Su spoke. "Do you, Lilith, swear not to enthrall nor purposely hurt humans while you remain in our world?"

He looked at Lilith. A small smile played across her lips as she held his gaze. He motioned her to go on with his right hand, not speaking lest it interfere with the ceremony.

The silence stretched on. His left hand was growing blistering hot, and he frowned, wondering if it was a side effect of the Vow. Then the temperature spiked, and he yanked his hand back with a cry, but the demoness held on with a vice grip.

Su pressed her wand under Lilith's jaw. "Let him go!"

She laughed and unfurled a wing to swat Su aside. A wisp of smoke rose from their clasped hands, and the stench of burning flesh wafted out. He yowled and thrashed to no avail, dimly registering the malevolent glee on the demoness's face. Among the sizzle of his flesh and the popping of his joints rose a shriek.

His right hand found his wand, and he aimed shakily below his left wrist. "L-Lacero!"

The purple ribbon sliced through his forearm in a spray of blood and continued on an ascending trajectory, but he and Lilith lurched apart, and instead of taking off her head, it only lopped off a horn.

His blood spattered on the blackened soil. He machinely staunched the bleeding and wrapped the stump in conjured bandages before his brain caught up to his body and he faltered mid-spell. For better or worse, dealing with mutilation appeared to be inscribed in his muscle memory.

He redid the botched Numbing Charm, but while it did dull the pain, his missing hand still throbbed. Turning his teary gaze to the demoness, he saw grey ashes drifting out of her open palm. His jaw quivered.

"Ah, I'll never get tired of that look of betrayal," she exclaimed. "You mortals just don't learn. How can you expect a demon to willingly put herself under your rule?"

"That," he rasped, straightening up, "was my second-favorite hand."

"Alone and crippled, you still fight?" She summoned hellfire. "Such a shame. You would have made an excellent minion, but I have no use for defective specimens."

He assumed a sideways stance, but before he could do more, a crackling white arc slammed into her, causing her limbs to twitch uncontrollably. His heart soared when Su came up, sporting a bruise on her cheek but no other obvious injuries.

"He isn't alone," she said, brandishing her wand. "_Bitch_."

Pivoting, he dashed up to the sword, shoved his wand down his pocket, and grasped the hilt. Lilith was jinking away from Su's curses while kneading a ball of hellfire.

"Get away!" he yelled as she heaved the fireball.

Su jabbed her wand to the side, staring unblinkingly at the nearing hellfire. For one heart-stopping moment, the flames hid her from sight, but then an amethyst wall shimmered into being, and the hellfire crashed against it with a frustrated shriek.

"This cannot be," Lilith murmured, watching the hellfire creep along the cube's surface but fail to eat through.

Shaking off his own surprise, he lifted the sword and sprang forth. Lilith twisted away at the last moment, and he only nicked the membrane of her wing as she unfurled them to regain balance. Her hooves hovered above the ground for several seconds before touching down.

Both their eyes widened in realization. Lilith cried triumphantly and beat her wings, making him shield his eyes from the blast of ashes. By the time he regained his sight, she was flying.

Dropping the sword, he drew his wand to conjure a stun-whip and flung it at her retreating figure. The crimson tendril extended against the backdrop of azure sky until coiling around her torso. Her wings seized up, and she plummeted to crash in a puff of black powder a dozen steps away. In a testament to her spell resistance, she still scrabbled at the ground, but Su threw half a dozen of binding spells at her, and she stilled.

He stowed his wand, picked up the sword, and trudged toward her fallen form. Every step made his throat tighten further. Her lithe muscles strained against the bindings, her eyes narrowed with the effort, yet as he came near, she sighed and went slack.

"Look at me... mocking Azazel, yet falling into the same trap of hubris." She laughed mirthlessly.

His hand shook as he rotated the sword to point downward.

She watched him, unflinching. "You have won today, but know this: Azazel swore not to rest until he drags you kicking and screaming to Gehenna, and many others share the sentiment. Demonslayer is a dangerous title."

A tear trickled down his cheek. "Thanks for the warning, Lilith... or whoever you are. I'm sorry."

He plunged the blade down, sobbing when it encountered a momentary resistance. Her body burst into flames and became ash. As the wind carried it away, leaving nothing behind but a lingering smell of sulfur, a faint whisper reached his ears.

"_What a strange human_..."

The hilt slipped from his hand, and he sank to his knees and wept into his palm.


	14. Russian Expedition, Part 3

The unscathed members of _Okhrana _stood guard, occasionally sending Harry grouchy looks, while state functionaries in convincing Muggle suits sorted out the freed men, many of whom had come from villages miles away with nothing but the clothes on their backs and would need help getting home. Some appeared still out of it, murmuring to themselves or pleading the functionaries for something.

Harry and Su watched them work alongside Evgenij, who insisted on seeing the operation through despite his concussion. Harry felt guilty every time he saw the bandages swaddling the diplomat's head, but he knew magic made short work of such mundane injuries.

Su had donned her obscuring robes again, not so much because of secrecy (that ship had sailed once the regrouped _Okhrana_ saw her face, and he had no doubt their memories would be added to her file in some top-secret archive), but because the cat-ear headband stubbornly resisted removal. Even now, two triangles protruded conspicuously under the fabric of her cowl.

She contemplated the functionaries herding a group of Muggles into a small bus. "You're not Obliviating them?"

Evgenij looked taken aback. "That would be a little excessive, yes? We do impress upon them the importance of keeping quiet. It's not my area of expertise, but from what I hear, that is usually enough—especially in remote places like this."

"Does that not breach the Statute?"

"Agent Fennec, please—our people know what they're doing. Even if someone does talk, it will only be seen as another conspiracy theory no one takes seriously. We can even encourage this kind of thinking when necessary."

She nodded slowly. "A very different approach from ours."

Harry frowned; simply wiping someone's memories seemed more humane. "You make them out to be crackpots."

Evgenij sighed. "Some Muggles, they react badly to Obliviation and are never the same afterward. Just because Britain dishes out—"

A commotion broke out nearby, and the trio turned to look. A Muggle in a worn jumper grabbed a functionary by the lapels and screamed into his face. Two blue-uniformed wizards rushed in to pull the Muggle away, the hands of their colleagues hovering over their holsters. After a heated exchange, the Muggle's shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to be ushered away, tears trailing down his cheeks.

"What happened?" Harry asked. His left hand itched, but when he absently tried to scratch it, the fingers of his right only encountered air. That was going to take some time to get used to.

"The gentleman did not wish to return to his wife. Said his time serving the demon was the happiest he had ever been." Evgenij coughed into his fist. "Merely a residual effect of the enthrallment, I'm sure."

Spying a dumpy headscarfed woman tramp up to the poor sod with a rolling pin in hand, Harry was gripped by deep sympathy. "Do you think we did the right thing here, Evgenij?"

"Surely you jest, Mr. Potter." The diplomat chuckled, but at Harry's grim expression, his laughter petered out. "I'm afraid I don't follow your meaning. We saved every Muggle we were able to, and despite the... complications, we ultimately avoided losses on our side. No one suffered lasting injuries at your hands. You have an iron will, to resist the demon's control even in that situation!"

He doubted it had been anything more than luck and the swiftness of their Portkeys, but only sighed and stuffed his hands—well, a hand and a stump—into the pockets of his tattered robes.

"Ah, you must be exhausted after the battle." Evgenij stood on tiptoes and glanced around before waving a functionary over. "You must rest, and then I'll give you the tour I promised. After _Okhrana_... clocks out, yes? There will be a celebration, and you will be the guest of honor! You as well, of course, Agent Fennec."

He groaned. "There's no need, really—"

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter, no one's angry with you," Evgenij said, misinterpreting his reluctance. "And on the off chance that they are, what better way to clear the air than having a drink together?"

He bit back his protest. "A drink, you say?"

Evgenij bobbed his head. "You must try the Snargaluff nastoyka. They say it puts hair on your chest!"

Harry nodded. Getting drunk sounded pretty good right now.

* * *

Harry moodily prodded the greyish lump of brined herring on his plate as boisterous conversation and raucous laughter ebbed and flowed around him. To his amazement, Evgenij turned out to be right: he hadn't received more than one or two dirty looks from those seated around the table. It must have helped that he had thrown off the succubus's thrall through sheer force of will and lost his hand in a grueling battle—as far as _Okhrana_ was concerned, anyway.

"The Patronus Charm didn't hurt her," he murmured, almost to himself. "That means she wasn't Dark, doesn't it?"

Su replied quietly from his left. "Maybe it's because she was a creature of lust, not terror."

He scowled at his plate. "Like I said—not Dark."

"It had to be done," she said, squeezing his elbow.

He didn't face her. "So you say."

She was silent for a time. "If it helps, you only destroyed her anchor to our world. I'm not sure demons _can_ die."

He glanced at her, found her forehead creased in concern, and forced himself to smile. It did help, a little.

At a tap on his shoulder, he turned around. The bloke seated to his right slid a shot glass filled with a clear liquor toward him and yammered something.

Harry gave him a thumb-up and rattled off the only Russian words he knew. "_Vodka, ushanka, medved′_."

The bloke laughed and bobbed his head. "_Vodka_, _vodka_!"

Su was also presented with a drink by a man next to her, who seemed entirely unbothered by being bandaged head to toe. Harry had a sinking suspicion it was the poor sod he had used in lieu of a battering ram, but with the bandages swathing his face, it was impossible to tell.

"Drink up, _kis′ka_," the mummy-man said, chortling when her cat ears twitched in irritation. They contrasted wonderfully with her businesslike attire, and Harry made a mental note to thank Hogwarts for the treat.

Su narrowed her eyes at the mummy-man until his smile faded and he stammered an apology, much to the amusement of his neighbors. Lifting the glass to her lips, she downed it in one go.

"Going to give _H_ a piece of my mind," she said, a little hoarsely, and reached for a tiny caviar sandwich.

The witnesses of the feat cheered and applauded. Harry eyed his own glass before picking it up.

The bloke to his right toasted him. "_Na zdorovie_."

"Nostrovia," Harry muttered.

He knocked the drink back, only to choke when a drop of fiery liquor went down the wrong pipe. Spouts of steam escaped his mouth with every cough. The Russians erupted in laughter, while his neighbor smacked him on the back.

"How can you... drink that so easily?" he wheezed, squinting at Su with watering eyes.

Her lips quirked smugly, and spearing a pickle with her fork, she proffered it to him. He eagerly chomped it down, groaning in relief as the burning in his throat lessened.

A chair on the opposite side of the table scraped against the floor as Evgenij stood. "May I propose a toast, gentlemen? To Harry Potter, the victorious Demonslayer!"

"Harry Potter!" roared the crowd, raising their glasses.

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dmitry scowl but join in, and smiled despite himself. He didn't feel deserving of praise, but with the merriment around him, it was hard to stay morose. Glancing at his glass, he found it refilled. He would stick to sips from now on; for this stuff to burn worse than Firewhiskey, it had to be ensorcelled.

Few shared his restraint. The bloke beside him—Maxim, as he soon learned—downed glass after glass, yet if anything, his broken English became _better _as the party went on. Urged constantly to keep up, Harry quickly got buzzed, so when someone prompted him to narrate what had happened before the Russians arrived on the scene, he didn't object overmuch.

"I was driving her back with my sword," he said, punctuating his words with swings of a table knife. "Every time she dodged, her tits would almost spill out of that wrap. So yeah, I got distracted, but can you really blame me? That grandiose pair was jiggling in my face! You guys saw them, right?" He ran his gaze along the table.

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the wizards and scathing looks from the witches. Harry's alcohol-addled brain sent him a belated warning, and he turned to find Su listening with a stony expression. Gulping, he decided to skip the finer details.

"Anyway, I fucked up and she got me. Not sure how her power works, must be phere—pheromones or some such. My loyal familiar immediately swooped to the rescue—" He dropped his knife in surprise when fire blazed overhead and Firo emerged with her talons extended. "Yeah, just like that—_yeowch_! That's my eye, you little shit—stop it, stop—I don't even know if I can regrow those!"

The blasted bird finally let up, and he slumped in his chair, gingerly patting his face to assess the damage. Firo landed on the table before him and fixed him with a beady eye.

"I'm sorry I tried to stab you, alright? Here, have some herring." He lifted his plate. Firo gave the greyish lump a halfhearted peck, and fluffing up her feathers, turned away. "Can't blame you, it's an acquired taste. Sorry, I don't think you'll enjoy the pickles either."

Firo hopped around to survey the _zakuska_ arrayed on the table until Harry's half-full glass caught her eye. She extended her neck toward it curiously.

He covered the glass with his palm. "No, you definitely don't want _that—_ow!"

Having pecked his hand to clear her way, Firo stuck her beak into the vodka, lapped at it with her tiny tongue, and tipped her head back to swallow. She fluttered her wings and warbled tunelessly before dipping her beak back into the glass.

The Russians laughed uproariously, and Harry started at the noise, realizing only now that everyone had gone quiet upon Firo's arrival to watch the spectacle. Swearing under his breath, he tried to yank the glass away, only to earn another beak mark on his finger for his trouble.

Sucking on his sore finger, he addressed Su. "Do you reckon she'll be alright drinking that?"

"Probably," she said, pouting.

He raised his eyebrows at her, but she wouldn't meet his gaze as she reached for her glass. Her cheeks were flushed and her cat ears were drooping.

"Maybe you should abstain," he said.

Sending him a peeved glance, she tossed her drink back.

He threw his arms up. "Don't blame me if the Portkey tomorrow makes you hurl." Perhaps she was just a maudlin drunk, although that wasn't the way he remembered it from their little experiment back in the Room of Requirement.

Firo's beak clinked against the glass several times before she realized there wasn't any drink left. She swiveled her head in search for more before taking wing with a blaring cry. Shouts broke out along the table as in her lumbering flight she knocked over bottles and bumped into heads.

He sighed and buried his face in his sole palm.

* * *

Harry awoke sweaty and with a parched throat. He pried open his gummy eyes, only to hiss and squeeze them shut when the glaring sunlight sent a lance of pain through his head. His right palm brushed what felt like comfortable if overly warm bed sheets as he took stock of the situation.

A queasy stomach, a pounding headache, and a taste of something he wouldn't mention in polite company in his mouth. Bloody Russians and their home-brewed _samogon_; he was lucky not to end up blind.

His sluggish mind latched on to the thought. Russians. The party. Firo badgered them for vodka, and Maxim tried valiantly if fruitlessly to train her to fetch a cork. The more knackered members of _Okhrana_ retired, and the remainder invited Harry and Su to a sauna. He had agreed eagerly, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be gender-segregated.

Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck as a recollection of a naked Dmitry flogging him with a bundle of twigs surfaced in his mind. Perhaps he could chalk it up to a hallucination. Russian moonshine was no joke.

His memories thereon were hazy. He recalled swearing an undying friendship with Evgenij... singing the Hogwarts anthem with Maxim... promising to send Dmitry's son the entire collection of Dragonslayer figures... staring into Firo's eyes as he tried to communicate something important... supporting a giggling Su as they stumbled up the staircase where shrunken elf heads used to hang before Sirius got rid of them...

He cracked open his eyes and squinted at the blurry ceiling of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. It appeared Firo had saved him the international Portkey trip.

"Good girl," he murmured. He would have to treat her to some dried jalapeños later.

As much as he would have liked to lie in, it was sweltering under the blanket and he needed to empty his bladder. Pushing up with an elbow, he tried to haul his body into a sitting position, only to flop back with an alarmed croak. His left arm was numb and didn't obey.

He swiveled his head left. Something black and furry entered his vision, and it took him several blinks to recognize the cat ears H had sent. They were attached to a sleeping Su, her head resting in the crook of his elbow, and her normally neat hair mussed over her face.

One fluffy ear twitched at his surprised exhalation. He groped for the edge of the blanket and lifted it to stare underneath. He did so for a while. His gaze then drifted to the corner of the room where something blurry and red was coiled up, and his chapped lips cracked in a smile as he imagined the busty lamia giving him a dejected look.

He turned back to Su. His hand reached, almost of its own volition, toward her fluffy ears, and he held his breath as he trailed a finger along one's soft edge.

"_Mm_." Su's eyes fluttered open.

He yanked his hand back as if caught doing something wrong. "Hi."

A faint, slightly uncertain smile came to her lips. "Hi."

"Now, don't freak out," he said. "Do you remember last night?"

Her cheeks pinkened. "Don't you?"

"Bits and pieces," he said, sheepish.

"Lightweight." A sparkle in her eyes belied her words.

As much as he would've liked to deny it, she had a point. "So, um... what happened?"

Su blinked at him, then extending her hand, traced a fingertip across his chest. "You see... when a boy and a girl like each other a lot..."

He pulled a face. "I gathered that much."

She giggled and sat up, clutching the blanket to her front. Her hand rose to pull at her cat ears, and she grimaced when they stayed put. His gaze wandered appreciatively down the slender lines of her back to the flare of her buttocks before he noticed her peering at him over her shoulder with an arched eyebrow.

"I have kids," he blurted out, then winced. She slowly turned to face him. "For real. Cute feathery chicks—must've been a couple dozen, hopefully, if things went right—I lost count at some point. Not that I've seen them, but I'd like to one day." He swallowed and sat up to level with her. "Thought you deserved to know, if we're going to do this. _Us_, I mean. Are we? Er, I just assumed—"

She touched a finger to his lips, then replaced it with a kiss. Drawing back, she scrunched up her nose. "Shower first, story later."

"Ah, right..." He shook off his momentary daze. "Down the hall, first door on the left."

Rising off the bed, she stretched in the sunlight and bent to gather her scattered clothing. She smirked at his hungry attention, but her face fell when her gaze landed on his wrist stump.

Feeling oddly embarrassed, he shoved it under the blanket. "It'll grow back. Maybe I should get a badass pirate's hook in the meantime or something."

Su made an unimpressed face.

"Or not," he amended. "I'd probably stab myself trying to put on a shirt."

Her eyes flicked to the door, then back at him, the mischievous sparkle returning. "Shall I help you wash?"

"No worries, you go first," he said, waving her off. It wasn't like he was crippled—not permanently, anyway.

She pouted. "If you're sure?"

Nodding, he watched her glide toward the door until something in his mind clicked and he kicked off the blanket. "Actually, yeah, I could use a hand or two."

A wicked little smile curved her lips. "Lead the way."


	15. How to Track Your Dragon, Part 1

"I still can't believe you're moving out," Sirius said as he weaved through the bustling Diagon Alley, snowflakes falling and melting on the fur trim of his cloak. "I thought we had a good thing going."

Harry put his slightly undersized hand over his chest. "It's not you, it's me. I need some space to find myself, alright?"

Sirius barked a laugh. "You're breaking my heart."

Harry was about to reply, but a flash in the corner of his vision distracted him. Across the street, a man in a flat cap was fiddling with a bulky camera hanging off his neck. Their eyes met, and the man scooted behind a gaggle of teenagers heading in the opposite direction. Harry irately adjusted his pointy hat; so it hadn't been enough to escape attention.

"_Your_ heart?" he exclaimed in a puff of steam. A sideways glance revealed the cap-clad man trailing them with head ducked low, and Harry's suspicion became conviction. "How do you think _I_ felt when you left me to have your way with the Bulgarian cheerleading squad?"

"Say what?" Sirius stared at him, but to his credit, when Harry winked and jutted his chin toward the reporter, he caught on at once. "At least they were _women_. Do I need to remind you of your episode with the goats and peanut butter?"

"You prick," he murmured. Out loud, he said, "This isn't really the place. Let's talk after we get home."

Standing on his tiptoes, he looked around exaggeratedly before walking off with Sirius in tow. When he next peeked over his shoulder, the flat cap was bobbing away through the crowd, its owner no doubt ecstatic about the scoop.

Sirius snickered as he scanned the alley behind them. "What was it, the _Daily Prophet _again? Do you reckon they bought it?"

"Wouldn't put it past them," Harry said, chortling. "Although you pushed it too far. I give you a dozen nubile veela, and you repay me with _goats_?"

"First thing that came to mind." Sirius did not sound contrite in the least. "In my defense, you do have some weird tastes."

He narrowed his eyes. "If they run an article calling me a goat diddler, I'm suing you for defamation."

Sirius waved dismissively. "Oh, lighten up. The papers said the same thing about Aberforth, and he went on to live his life without a care in the world."

"If I had whiskey for breakfast, I wouldn't care either."

Sirius chuckled. "True enough."

They walked down the winding street until the snowy-white spire of the Gringotts Bank came into view. Motioning him to follow, Sirius descended a set of worn stairs between two crooked buildings and entered an alleyway permanently shaded by overhanging eaves.

"Keep your eyes peeled," Sirius instructed as they walked. "It's unlikely that anyone'll mess with two adult wizards, but it can happen if you look like an easy mark."

"Right," he said, stretching up to peer over Sirius's shoulder. It wasn't often that he visited the hive of scum and villainy that was Knockturn Alley.

Sirius considered him. "You're rubbernecking like a tourist. Try to look tough, like you belong."

He pursed his lips and frowned. "Like this?"

Sirius opened his mouth as though to speak, then choked and turned away. "Forget what I said. Just act natural."

"Oi! What's wrong with my tough look?"

Sirius laughed and shook his head. Scowling, Harry tugged down the brim of his hat and tailed him through the narrow passage, underneath a brick archway, and into the alley proper.

The smell hit him first: a pungent mixture of frying grease, cloying herbs, and rotting fish. The upper floors of the sooty buildings jettied out precariously over the filthy street. Hawkers huddled beneath as if afraid to step into the paltry daylight, their stalls exuding some of the less-offensive odors. It was hard to believe the vibrant storefronts of Diagon Alley were less than a hundred yards away—although, given the wizards' inclination to tamper with space, the real distance might have been ten times that.

Sirius inhaled deeply. "Ah, this takes me back. My dear mother used to bring me and Regulus along when she picked up her commissions from Dystyl Phaelanges. No one polishes a clavicle like old Mortimer, she used to say."

Whatever this Mortimer sold, Harry decided it was better for his sanity not to know. "Don't tell me you're getting nostalgic. This place smells worse than Uncle Vernon after curry night."

"It's not that bad over on the other end." Sirius glanced in passing at a scribbled sign above a rusty cage swarming with tarantulas that read '7 Sickles ea.'. "What a rip-off. Anyway, this side's where the rougher crowd congregates. Think werewolves and vampires rather than snooty Dark wizards."

"Non-humans," he muttered, taking a closer look at a cowled figure behind the nearest stall. The enchantments on his spectacles penetrated the shadows, exposing a leprous countenance with yellowish eyes and a bulbous nose. Looking away, he asked in an undertone, "Do all hags eat human flesh?"

His godfather spared him a glance. "If they can get their grubby hands on it, sure. Animal innards are good enough to keep them going though."

He cast another furtive look at the hag, then yelped and stumbled as the tip of his boot wedged into a mud-filled hole between the cobblestones. The hag cackled shrilly.

"Somebody should fix that," he said petulantly, stomping his foot to shake off the mud.

Sirius snorted. "Would _you_ want to work as a causeymaker in this place?"

"Good point." He hastened to catch up, now paying more attention to the pavement.

The street bent sharply and extended parallel to Diagon Alley until curving out of sight again in the distance. The pavement grew wider, and the air more palatable. Hooded figures skulked between the buildings, their hands stuffed down their pockets and their eyes glinting in the shadows. Harry schooled his face into his best don't-mess-with-me expression.

A door below a fading sign depicting a Nundu with two horns on its head creaked open, belching out pipe smoke and the stench of sour ale. A scruffy man in threadbare robes staggered into the middle of the street, his bloodshot eyes passing over Harry and Sirius without recognition.

Harry gave the drunkard a wide berth, but the man still managed to stumble into him with a slurred oath. The drunkard's legs seemed to give out, and he clutched the front of Harry's robes to stay upright.

"Gerroff!" Harry gripped the swaying drunkard by his shoulders to steady him.

"S'ncere 'pologies, guv," the man said, leaning on him heavily. "Had a bit t'much t'drink."

The fumes wafting off him had been enough of an indication. Wrinkling his nose, Harry shoved him away. "Right, just be on your bloody way."

The drunkard gave him a gap-toothed smile and wheeled around, only to freeze when Sirius's wand pressed to his neck.

"Not so fast, mate."

Harry furrowed his brows. "It's no big deal, really—"

"You're too naive." Sirius dug his wand into the hollow of the man's throat. "Hand it back, unless you want to puke up yesterday's breakfast."

The drunkard gulped convulsively. "D-didn't mean anything by it!" His hand slipped behind the lapel of his robes and emerged cupping a drawstring pouch. It was made of brown leather and appeared to be stuffed with coin. On closer inspection, it looked exactly like...

"You sneaky git!" Harry patted himself down, and sure enough, didn't feel the usual bulge under his robes. Snatching the pouch, he deposited it into his inner pocket and drew his wand. "There's this Aztec curse that I've been dying to try—"

"Begging your forgiveness, good sir!" cried the pickpocket. "Me wife passed a year ago, and I gots four mouths to feed at home! Me nan is down with spattergroit and needs potions!"

"Right, and you had to sell your kidney to pay the rent, and your Crup's sick with Dragon Pox." Sirius jerked his chin. "Bugger off. Next time you stick your fingers in our pockets you lose them."

"Bless you, m'lord!" The pickpocket edged backward, bowing profusely, then pivoted and scurried off.

Sirius slowly lowered his wand. "Told you to keep your eyes peeled."

"Yeah, yeah." Harry watched morosely as the pickpocket retreated with a much surer gait than he had exhibited earlier. "It would've never happened if I still had my... you-know-what."

Pocketing his wand, Sirius proceeded down the street. "Fancy giving the Animagus Express another go? Maybe you can find yourself another pathetic form to kill."

"I don't know..." He didn't feel like going anywhere near that dratted potion, but then again, there weren't many options left. "Maybe after Cedric's had his turn."

Sirius shrugged. "Suit yourself. If we get our hands on the ayahuasca, I can as easily whip up enough for two people as for one."

He grunted noncommittally, his fingers wrapped around the wand in his expanded pocket, and his eyes darting left and right. Most loiterers averted their gaze when he looked at them. He must've been getting that tough look down pat.

Sirius halted before a glass storefront so murky you couldn't discern the dark shapes behind it. "We're here."

Harry tilted his head back to read the sign—'Caldwell's Curious Curios'—and followed his godfather inside. Given their errand, he had expected an apothecary, but at first glance through his fogged-up glasses, the store's wares ranged from dusty antiques to outright rubbish. Pungent oil lamps illuminated the interior as daylight had no hope of penetrating the grimy windows on the sunniest of days.

A bell somewhere in the depths of the establishment announced their arrival. Sirius clearly did not trust it to do the job, because he bellowed, "Cal! Customers!" He dropped his voice. "Poor sod's ears have been troubling him lately."

When the rotund shopkeeper lumbered in from the back, Harry could wager a guess as to why. Tufts of grey hair sprouted from his ears, and his unkempt beard rivaled Hagrid's in shagginess, lending him a dwarf-like look. His deep-set eyes squinted at Harry, then at Sirius.

"Ah, Mr. Black. Here to peruse the vintage issues of _Saucy Sorceress_ again?"

Sirius shot Harry a furtive look. "I don't know what you're on about, you old Knut-pincher." He coughed. "No, we're here on a different matter. Have you received any goods from your Brazilian contact lately?"

"You're in luck," wheezed Cal. "A shipment came through just days ago. Twelve Sickles per ounce."

Sirius drew himself up. "That's highway robbery! I paid half that last time."

"A growing portion of our shipments have been getting impounded. Risks have to be taken into account." Caldwell produced an embroidered handkerchief and mopped the beads of perspiration off his forehead.

As Sirius entered a loud negotiation with the shopkeeper, Harry lost interest and wandered off through the winding aisles. He waved off his godfather's warning not to touch anything with affront. He wasn't a child, for god's sake.

Baubles and trinkets of all sorts jostled for space on the dusty shelves. A puffing gizmo that would have looked at home in Dumbledore's office sat next to a crystal dodecahedron. A scuffed case held a set of Quidditch balls featuring a Quaffle-sized Snitch and a Snitch-sized Quaffle. Broomsticks lined one wall, ranging in length from just a foot to something that Hagrid could use to take Madam Maxime out for a romantic flight. Several overhead shelves burst with books, some spines dusty and others gleaming as though freshly swept.

He pulled one out at random and opened it in the middle. The letters swam across the yellowing pages before coalescing into neat paragraphs.

_The dim lighting of the shop proved inadequate for reading, forcing the young man to hunch over the pages. His brow knitted in confusion. What was the book about? He had picked it by chance, yet it appeared to be narrating his own perspective..._

Harry raised his head and glanced around. Was someone playing a joke on him? His curiosity took the better of him, and he went back to reading. The words below the paragraph where he had left off rearranged before his eyes.

_His mind awhirl, the man refocused on the mysterious book. The muffled voices of his godfather and the shopkeeper faded into the background. The yellowing pages consumed his vision, and he felt as though he was drifting in a void where only he and the volume in his hands existed. He tried to look up again, but to his growing horror, he found his gaze glued to the pages, his eyes devouring the text of their own accord. _

_Suddenly, he sensed an ominous presence behind him. It made no sound nor did it disturb the dusty air, but he knew with a terrible certainty that it was _there _and that it had come for him. His fingers trembled as_—

His pulse racing, he snapped the book shut and whirled around. No terrible monster lurked between the cramped aisles. He glanced down at the cover, which read 'Tailored Terrors by Thanus Talbott'.

Chuckling nervously, he shoved the book back into its place and returned to the front of the shop. Sirius was counting off silvery coins into the shopkeeper's sweaty palm. Harry's gaze meandered to an array of wall-mounted clocks, some working and some not, then to a shelf below, atop which assorted statuettes piled haphazardly.

He walked up for a closer look at a jade figurine of a shapely woman with a serpentine lower half. Perhaps a foot tall, it was carved with meticulous attention to detail: the long tail arched gracefully, every minute scale perfectly defined, elongated fangs protruded between delicate lips, the nails tapered into fine points, and he even made out a tiny piercing in the bellybutton above where scales gave way to skin. The only thing detracting from the appeal was the pain and anger reflected in the woman's face.

"All done," Sirius said, startling him. "Find something you like?"

Harry gestured at the shelf. "Maybe. I thought you said lamias didn't exist?" He eyed the fin-like ears projecting behind the woman's head. "Although this might be more of a naga."

"I keep telling you, those are nothing but Muggle legends," Sirius said with a glance at the figurine. "Heh, nice tits. Too bad they're wasted on a snake."

He gave his godfather a pitying look. What a plebeian.

"Young sir has an eye for quality," Caldwell puffed, shuffling up to them. "Knowing this piece will be in good hands, I shall part with it for a measly price of three Galleons."

"Do you know who made it?" Harry asked. "It's beautiful—the craftsmanship, I mean." Despite the statuette's splendid detail, there wasn't a single chip nor blemish in sight, so it couldn't be very old. Perhaps he could commission whoever carved it to make figurines for his business.

"The name of the artisan is lost to history," Caldwell said. "The statuette was gifted to the First emperor of the Ming dynasty upon his ascendance to the throne. A very rare antique—a steal at the price."

Sirius snorted. "Cal hasn't a clue who made it. His suppliers—think Dung's sort—bring the stuff in, and he foists it off on the next sucker to fall for his spiel."

"You're a _fence_!" Harry blurted out, more impressed than anything.

Caldwell placed a doughy hand over his chest. "Slander and lies, sir! I run a respectable business, I do. Now, will you be purchasing the item or not?"

Harry contemplated the figurine. He was not into antiques, but he had never seen anything like it, whether in the Muggle world or wizarding. If only the poor naga did not look so tormented... It almost hurt _him_ to look at her contorted expression.

On an impulse, he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. The shop around was so rife with insubstantial tendrils of enchantments that it was difficult to distinguish between them. He slowly extended his hands toward the figurine.

His consciousness touched... an _existence_. The smell of brine and seaweed filled his nose, and the sloshing of waves entered his ears. The existence felt as vast and ancient as the ocean, dormant but not entirely asleep, drifting at the edge of a dream. He delved in. His breath caught in surprise when the figurine appeared in his mind's eye, its jade surface fracturing and sloughing off like an eggshell, aquamarine hair billowing out, sinuous body swaying in a mesmerizing dance—

"Sir. Sir!" A wheezy voice intruded into the vision. "Please pay before pawing the merchandise."

His eyes flew open. He looked confusedly at Caldwell, then at the figurine he now clutched with both hands. Gasping, he let go, and it clattered to the table.

"Watch it, now! If the statuette is damaged in any way, you will be charged—"

"I want it," he said.

Caldwell halted mid-tirade. "Excellent choice, young sir! I never once doubted you were a discerning customer."

"Hold your Hippogriffs," Sirius said, frowning. "Cal, lend me your Curse-Breaker Specs. Don't give me that look, everyone in your occupation owns a pair or two."

Caldwell's shoulders drooped. "If Mr. Black insists, certainly." He tried to turn around, but his potbelly nearly knocked over a precarious stack of foreign magazines. Huffing and puffing, he backpedaled until the aisle widened enough to accommodate his girth.

"I don't like how you acted back there," Sirius said to Harry's questioning glance. "Better safe than sorry when it comes to these things."

Harry swallowed back his protest. In retrospect, there was something odd about the figurine, yet somehow he knew in his heart of hearts that the existence he had sensed did not mean him harm.

Heavy footfalls and wheezing breath heralded the shopkeeper's return. Squeezing up to them, he thrust out what looked like a pair of antique welding goggles.

Sirius slipped them on, blinked owlishly behind the thick lenses, and stooped over the figurine. Humming, he adjusted the goggles as he regarded it from different angles. Harry tapped his foot in wait.

"Well, it won't melt your flesh or drain your blood," Sirius said, straightening up. "I think."

Harry rolled his eyes. "_That's_ your professional opinion?"

"Hey, I might not be a Curse-Breaker, but I can recognize stuff you should steer clear from. Comes with the family name." Sirius pulled off the goggles and rubbed his eyes. "The auras of curses tend toward primary colors. This one's sort of milky, without the saw-toothed edges that would indicate any outward-aimed nastiness. The thing's definitely magic, but it isn't bespelled to inflict harm."

"Good enough for me." He produced his money pouch. Whatever secrets the figurine held, he would discover them in due time.

Sirius leveled his gaze at him. "I won't tell you not to buy it, but take precautions after you bring it home. Put it in one of my mother's display cabinets, those were built to hold cursed items."

"I'll be careful," he said, handing Caldwell three golden coins. By the time haggling crossed his mind, the money had already disappeared in the shopkeeper's pockets.

As he reverently picked up the figurine, its tiny jade eyes seemed to soften as though it was happy to be in his possession. He smiled. Caldwell was right: for such a work of art, three Galleons was a steal.


	16. How to Track Your Dragon, Part 2

Sirius bowed over the brass cauldron bubbling atop a brazier and sniffed. His brow furrowed. He gave the concoction another counter-clockwise stir, lifted out the stirring rod, and blew on it to cool it down before tasting it with the tip of his tongue. "Hmm."

Harry grinned. Under the dim light of the gas lanterns in Grimmauld Place's basement, with his long hair swaying in the fumes, his godfather resembled a witch straight out of a Muggle fairy tale. He suspected that most of the theatrics were unnecessary, but they certainly seemed to impress Cedric, who observed raptly from the sidelines.

"Just needs to simmer for a couple minutes," Sirius declared, taking the cauldron off the heat.

Cedric let out a breath. "Thanks again for doing this for me, Mr. Black. Ever since I saw Anthony Goldstein's transformation, I couldn't get the idea of becoming an Animagus out of my head."

"I told you, it's Sirius—and don't mention it." His dark eyes narrowed. "I mean it. I don't mind helping out friends, but James and I didn't puke our guts out so every Tom, Dick, and Harry could use our secret sauce to become Animagi."

"Bad choice of phrase," Harry remarked.

Cedric bobbed his head. "I'll keep mum. If it really grants animal-like reflexes like people say, I'd rather keep an advantage over my Quidditch opponents."

Sirius gestured at the cauldron. "In that case, go ahead. Fair warning, it tastes awful, but don't let that deter you. You're a big bloke, so swallow at least two ladlefuls."

Cedric came up and picked up the ladle. "So it really only takes drinking this and having a dream?"

"A short spirit trip, and you'll know your form," Sirius said, nodding. "Mind you, it won't necessarily be to your liking."

"Oh no, I'll be happy with whatever I get." Cedric plunged the ladle into the steaming potion.

Sirius grinned. "Don't be so sure. Why, Harry here—"

"As if this guy could be anything but bloody perfect," Harry cut in, scowling. "He'll get his form, and it'll be _awesome_, I just know it."

"Thanks, I think," Cedric said. He took a deep breath, brought the ladle to his lips, and downed its contents. Grimacing, he scooped up more potion and slurped it down again.

"Reckon that's enough," Sirius said. "Lie down on that cot over here and relax. We'll keep an eye on you."

Cedric shuffled to a threadbare mattress that looked like it had belonged to Kreacher and sat on it heavily. Rubbing his forehead, he peered at the other two. "You lot aren't going to mess with me while I'm out of it, are you?"

"'Course not, we're not children," Harry scoffed.

"This is a highly delicate process," Sirius said somberly. "It's not a time for infantile shenanigans."

"Alright," Cedric murmured. "Whoa, I feel woozy already. Hope this doesn't take long... told Cho I was heading to a pub... with my teammates..." Slumping on his back, he stared at the ceiling until his eyelids fluttered shut.

Sirius nudged his chin at the cauldron. "Change your mind yet? There's enough for one more go."

"Nah, I'll sit this one out."

"Suit yourself." Sirius rummaged in a cabinet for a strainer and set about funneling the filtered potion into a bottle.

Harry wandered over to Cedric's recumbent form and poked him in the ribs with his toes. Seeing no signs of consciousness, he crouched, retrieved a felt-tip pen (a wizarding one, naturally) from his pocket, and whistling merrily, set to work.

A shadow loomed over him as he was putting the finishing touches on his veiny masterpiece. He looked up and saw Sirius staring down with his arms crossed.

"I'm disappointed in you, godson. A dick across the cheek is utterly cliché."

"How can you say that?" Harry sketched some curls before capping the marker. "It's a timeless classic."

Sirius produced a felt-tip pen of his own and sank to his haunches. "When you live to be my age, you'll realize that it lacks a certain _je ne sais quoi_. Here, let me show you how it's done."

No sooner had the tip of his marker made contact with skin than a convulsion went through Cedric's body. His limbs spasmed and he let out a moan.

Harry scooted away in alarm. "One of those bad reactions? Is he going to puke everything up?"

Sirius's hand stretched toward his pocket that held the bezoars, then drew back. "No," he said grimly, "he's transforming. Look at the fingernails."

Harry gasped. Cedric's fingernails lengthened and curved, raking the mattress underneath. His limbs swelled, stretching out his shirt and trousers, and his skin acquired a greenish tinge.

Springing to his feet, Sirius paced back and forth. "Damn it! The asphodel root must've been stale—it's supposed to suppress the animal during the vision so you don't hurt yourself thrashing about." He pointed his wand at Cedric, then lowered it. "Reversing a halfway transformation is too risky. Nothing else for it: we'll just wait for it to finish and then turn him back."

Retrieving his wand, Harry anxiously tapped it against his palm. Cedric writhed in what appeared to be unbearable pain, and given the snapping sounds his rearranging bones and cartilage made, Harry could see why.

Sirius paused in his pacing. "Blimey, would you look at that. What do you reckon he is, some kind of a crocodile?"

Diamond-shaped golden scales spread over Cedric's thickening neck. The growth swiftly covered his face, which crunched nauseatingly as it elongated into a toothy snout. His body bulged, and his robes burst into tatters, revealing something scaly and serpentine.

The beast rolled onto its fours and roared. Two enormous wings unfurled from its back, and a tail erupted from its hindquarters, pulverizing the potion station behind. The beast kept swelling in size, its claws gouging furrows into the stone floor.

Harry scampered to hide under a heavy table beside the wall, skidding the last few feet in a powerful gust of wind. The wings that now spanned most of the basement beat deafeningly and raised clouds of dust. "I don't think it's a crocodile!"

"What tipped you off?" Sirius yelled, chasing his wand that was rolling across the floor. Before he could seize it, a horizontal tail swipe laid him out on his arse.

Harry shielded him an instant before the ridged tail could crush him. "You said you couldn't become a magical creature!"

Finally catching his wand, Sirius launched a blue jet of light at Cedric, but it glanced off the golden scales. "Merlin was one! Thought it was legend!"

Harry aimed at what was unmistakably _a dragon_ and cast his own Animagus-Reversal Spell. The only measure by which it proved more effective than Sirius's was in enraging the beast, which tilted its head backward in a roar until the spines of its sinuous neck tore into the ceiling.

"The bloke's tall, handsome, and a shoo-in for the national team! Why not give him the same bloody form as Merlin to boot!" Coughing, Harry pressed his sleeve over his mouth and pummeled the dragon with nonverbal reversal spells. "Cedric, if you can hear me—_fuck you_!"

The dragon pivoted his way, but its shoulders jammed against the ceiling. Roaring, it rose on its hindquarters and broke through into the ground floor. Its front feet clutched the flooring above while its hind propelled it upward. Powdered gypsum and chips of wood rained down, and the gas lamps blinked out, plunging the basement into darkness. Several seconds later came another deafening crash.

He curled up into a ball and erected a shield. Four more booms resounded, and a deluge of shattered furniture poured from the hole in the ceiling, making him cover his ears. The Grimmauld Place shuddered on its foundations, and he wondered if he should Apparate before it came down on his head.

The torrent of debris from the upper floors dwindled to a trickle. The noises of destruction ceased, and he made out the sound of falling water. A beam of daylight penetrated the gloom, illuminating the dust swirling in the air.

He canceled his shield, sneezed, and put up a Bubble-Head Charm. Crawling out from beneath the table, he rose to his feet. His spectacles could compensate for the darkness, but not the chalky powder clogging the air.

"Sirius?" His voice echoed back into his ears, and he winced. "Oi, you alive?"

A heap of rubble in the corner fell apart, releasing a dusty but intact Sirius. He inhaled greedily, then doubled over in a coughing fit. Harry took mercy and bestowed a bubble over his head.

"Cheers," Sirius wheezed. His hair and goatee were grey with dust, aging him by a couple decades. "Merlin's beard, but this went tits up."

"No kidding." Shards of porcelain crunched under Harry's feet as he climbed the mountain of debris in the middle of the basement and tilted his head back. Water spilled from severed pipes sticking out of the jagged edges of the dragon-sized hole. Far above, he could see a tiny patch of overcast London sky.

"Lumos," Sirius murmured, coming up. "Bloody hell, my bedroom relocated two floors down. The entire house is gutted."

Harry nodded absently, then froze. "My stuff!" Planting his heel firmly, he focused on his destination.

Sirius clasped his shoulder. "Don't be daft! The floors are all tilted, you'll tumble down as soon as you Apparate in."

"But then how..." He scanned the rubble wildly, then raised his wand. "Accio Firebolt!"

The heap before them shook, starting a small avalanche, and they leapt back to avoid it. The broomstick broke out of the rubble and floated down, its shaft scratched and some tail twigs bent. When Harry mounted it, Sirius promptly settled down behind him.

Muted shrieks greeted their ears as they squeezed through the gap between the mountain of rubble and the ragged edge of the hole. The ground floor was devastated, sloping toward the chasm in the middle, and the staircase to the upper floors dangled in the air. A corner of a gilded picture frame peeked from under an overturned cabinet Sirius had placed over his mother's portrait years ago.

"That's one way to get it off, I suppose," Sirius commented. "Shatter the wall."

Harry ascended as quickly as he dared, swiveling to avoid the jutting pipes. There was a clang, and Sirius swore.

"Sorry, steering's off." Nudging the broom toward the middle of the hole, he cautiously rose another floor.

The staircase landing was gone, and Buckbeak's room (as it would be known forevermore because _nothing_ could get the stench of Hippogriff dung out) was missing a couple walls. Harry's room technically had all four, but there was a mouth-shaped crevice between them and the downward-slanting floor. His hands tightened on the broomstick, and he zoomed through the deformed hallway to kick open his door.

The door smacked into an overturned bird perch, but he barely spared it a glance; Firo was probably at Hogwarts begging the children for treats as usual. His shelves still stood, albeit crooked, but most books had fallen onto the glass-strewn floor. Some of the glass was from the shattered window, via which a cool breeze wafted in, but the rest came from his display cabinet—now little more than a gnarled metal frame—which had toppled scattering its precious contents.

"No, no, no..." He dismounted and sank to his knees to scoop up a shattered figurine. "You poor baby."

Sirius cleared his throat. "I know you treasure your toys, but if your Firebolt's flying, we ought to chase down Cedric." He stooped for the broomstick Harry had dumped on the floor.

"Careful!" Harry yelled, pointing. Sirius's foot froze an inch above a tiny plastic sword. "Just—just watch your step, alright?"

As Sirius tiptoed around the debris, muttering under his breath, Harry summoned the broomstick and looked it over. A brisk sweep of his wand snapped its tail twigs straight. He would check them thoroughly later, but Sirius was right: there was no time to waste.

Plus, it would get him off Harry's back long enough for him to take care of the truly important stuff.

He handed the broomstick over. "One person will fly much faster. You go ahead while I sort this out."

Nodding, Sirius mounted and wobbled out through the askew door frame. Harry cast another gaze at the devastation around, clicked his tongue, and set to salvaging his collection, painstakingly inspecting every piece and applying repairs as needed. The floor gradually cleared as the pile of restored figurines atop his bed grew.

"Reparo. Tergeo. Looking fluffy as always, Holo," he crooned, gently setting the wolf-eared girl down. "Your thighs are a national treasure, Tohsaka. Where did your Pan-san go, Yukino? Accio. Reparo. That's one, two, three..."

And so he went through the lot, double-checking for damage as he counted. When he came up with the same total as before, he exhaled in relief. "Guess I'm not murdering Cedric after we find him after all."

"_If_ we find him."

He whirled around to find a dripping and windswept Sirius at the doorway. "How did you get back here so fast?"

"I was gone for half an hour by my count," Sirius said with a mirthless snort. "We lost him. No panicked crowds, no fires—I flew for fifteen minutes toward black smoke, but it turned out to be some industrial monstrosity. He could be anywhere by now."

"Something that stupidly big can't be hard to find. Reparo." Harry wordlessly sent the books soaring back into the mended shelves. "Besides, he's an apex predator; there's very little that can hurt him."

"I'm more worried about him hurting others." Sirius sighed. "We'll have to involve more people. Pop all over the country, ask about sightings... God, this is a mess." He raked a hand through his damp hair. "Are you about done?"

"Think so. Yeah, just let me grab my..." He cocked his head at a vaguely speechlike hiss at the edge of his awareness. "Do you hear that?"

Sirius swiveled his head. "Hear what?"

The house groaned, and Harry's bed slid several inches toward the askew wall. He sprang toward it and fussed over the figurines that had slid off the pile.

"I do _now_," Sirius said. "We better get out before the place crumbles completely."

"Don't sweat it." Squeezing past Sirius, he braced against the doorjamb and leaned out into the ruined landing. "Reparo!"

Debris rocketed up, molding itself back into darkened rosewood balustrades and wallpaper-covered walls, and adhering to the lip of the hole to become worn parquet. As the slanted floor righted itself with a creak, something rolled loudly across it, and turning back, he saw a jade statuette emerge from beneath the bed.

He hastened to pick it up. "Knew I was forgetting something."

Sirius walked out into the landing and whistled. "If your Mending Charm's this good, why didn't you start with the floors? I thought we'd have to call in contractors to fix the place up."

"Huh? Oh." His examination didn't reveal so much as a scratch on the smooth jade. From underneath the bed, he pulled out a cardboard box stuffed with foam peanuts and tenderly laid the statuette inside. "Like I always say, you gotta have priorities." He moved on to depositing the rest of his collection into the box, separating each figurine with a generous amount of foam.

"Priorities, he says." Sirius shook his head. "Repair the remaining floors, then. Ten minutes here or there won't make a difference at this point, and at least we'll know the house will still be standing when we get back."

"Sure thing." He strolled out into the restored landing and leaned over the balustrade. "Better start with the bottom, it's in the worst shape..." A chilly droplet fell on the back of his neck, and he looked up. The sky roiled with clouds. "Or not."

Sirius motioned him to get on the Firebolt and flew them into the attic. The side of the sloping roof that faced the street was mostly gone, and slate fragments littered the floor.

Harry poked his head out, then swore and ducked. "There's a crowd down there."

Sirius rubbed his face. "Damn, I keep forgetting we're no longer invisible to Muggles. I'll try the Floo and call Magical Accidents and Catastrophes—they'll get the Muggle authorities off our backs. You get down there and calm them down."

Harry tested the floor with one foot before jumping off the broom. He tilted his head back. The drizzle was getting stronger, and with the gawkers down below, he couldn't magic the roof together. "The rain might flood my—"

"I'll put up a tarp or something," Sirius said irritably. "Go before they barge in to rescue us and get cussed out by a talking portrait."

"Alright, alright, don't get your wand in a knot." He pushed back the broom Sirius stuck out. "Keep it, the stairs are all mangled."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "What about you?"

"Watch this." He tapped his chest with his wand, causing an unnatural lightness to spread through him, and shuffled toward the lip of the hole. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward. Gravity took hold, but rather than plummet to his death, he floated down like a feather. "Whoo-hoo! Ouch—_bugger_, stupid pipe—I'm okay, don't worry!"

Touching down on the restored second floor, he repaired the sleeve that had snagged on the pipe before vaulting over the balustrade and continuing his journey down. He landed beside the hole into the basement and canceled the Feather-light Charm.

Someone was ramming the front door, which hung askew on its hinges but held on. Yells from outside blended with the portrait's screeches.

"Colloportus," he said, sealing the door with a squelch.

Walburga's voice became more clear. "What have you done, you stains of dishonor? This is the venerable home of the Blacks, not a menagerie for filthy creatures!"

Harry stooped to wrench the painting from underneath the overturned cabinet.

Walburga's eyes bulged out. "You!"

"Me." He rotated the frame the right side up. "It's been a while, Mrs. Black. You're outstandingly cantankerous as always."

She curled her yellowing fingers into claws as though to throttle him. "Waste of your father's seed! Ungrateful freak leeching off our noble house's fortune! Restore me to my rightful place this instant!"

"You know," he mused, "I _really_ need to take a piss, but all the toilets are broken right now." He chucked the portrait on the floor and groped for his fly.

Walburga gaped like a fish out of water. "You wouldn't dare."

"Care to try me?" Another impact rattled the door, making him glance over his shoulder. "Better be civil to me, or who knows what I'll do. After all, I'm a freak."

He kicked the portrait into the basement, hearing Walburga shriek as she bounced down the heap of debris. Lifting his wand, he swept it over the hole. "Reparo."

With a loud clatter, the floor stitched together and the staircase reconstructed itself. He made sure nothing obviously magical was in sight, then stepped up to the entrance, removed the Locking Charm, and yanked the door open.

"_Oof_!" His breath was knocked out of him by a checkered missile. Rubbing his midsection, he found himself face-to-face with a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt. "Oh, hullo, Mr. Wright."

"Potter!" The man clutched his shoulders. "Good lord, man, what happened? Is everyone in the house alright?"

"Yes, there's no need to worry." He side-stepped to block the foyer from Mr. Wright's wide-eyed gaze. "Just a slight, er, gas leak."

"A _gas leak_? That's no joking matter, lad!" Mr. Wright glanced over his shoulder and yelled, "Someone call the emergency services!"

"No, no. It was very, um, localized." The crowd on the pavement before the house murmured among themselves. He raised his voice. "Everything's under control now. Don't worry, folks, we're alright."

A tottering old lady shuffled up to the stairs. "What was that horrible noise?"

"Gas explosion," he enunciated.

"It sounded like roaring." The lady's gnarled hand trembled atop her cane as she peered at Harry with watery eyes. "Fufu wouldn't quit barking at the sky. She hid in the bushes and won't come out."

Fufu, he assumed, was the quivering, rat-like dog he occasionally saw walked by the old lady. "I'm sure one of these gentlemen will help get her out, madam," he said reassuringly. "I'm a little preoccupied myself, what with our house falling apart and all."

The lady didn't seem to be listening. "We saw something tear out the roof. Something very big, with wings."

The neighbors exchanged uneasy glances. One murmured, "I saw something too, but... must've been a trick of light..."

"Which way did it go?" Harry blurted out. A hush fell over the crowd, and their expressions grew wary. "Er, not that it was _real_, of course. Just idle curiosity."

Sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second. Harry leaned out to watch. Two police cars rounded a corner and pulled up to the house with a squeal of tires.

"The bobbies came," the old lady said. "Maybe they'll get Fufu out."

Four uniformed officers spilled out of the cars and rushed toward the house, and Mr. Wright climbed down the stairs to get out of their way. Harry patted the pocket that held his wand and glanced over his shoulder, wishing Sirius would hurry.

As if in response to his fervent wish, a series of Apparition cracks resounded down the street. Everyone's heads turned that way, and one of the policemen's hands dropped to the holster on his belt—yet where Harry saw a trio of nondescript men in dull grey suits, the Muggles' gazes slid off them like water off wax.

"What was that?" said a policeman.

"Must've been fireworks," said another, looking straight through the arrivals. "Blasted kids fooling around. Never mind that, we have a situation to deal with. You sir, at the door! What happened here?"

No sooner had the policemen started trooping up the stairs than the trio of wizards did something with their wands and moved to intercept them.

The officer in the lead jerked back from a grey-suited man. "_Bloody hell_—where did you come from?"

"Parked just around the corner." The man's voice was flat, as if he was immensely bored. "We're taking over here. This should tell you all you need to know."

He produced a gleaming card and held it out for inspection. Harry stood on his tiptoes to get a better look. A large blocky script spelled out 'Obliviator Headquarters', and something smaller was written underneath.

The sergeant's jowls quivered indignantly as he scowled at the card. Then his eyes widened, and he snapped off a salute. "Understood, Chief Inspector McAuley. Give these damned dope dealers what they deserve." He glared at Harry, then waved to his men. "Back to the station, lads! These gentlemen have the situation well in hand."

"Must've been a meth lab," said a gangling teenager holding up a smartphone. "Those blow up all the time, I've seen it on the telly."

A pensioner next to him spat on the pavement. "Never in all my years... The country's gone to the dogs, it has."

Harry glowered at the grey-suit. "Dope dealers?"

"The Muggles simply see whatever credentials they find the most plausible." The Obliviator climbed unhurriedly up the stairs until they were face to face. Mousy and bland, he was so forgettable Harry was certain he wouldn't be able to describe him five minutes later. "Your reputation with the neighbors should be the least of your worries, Mr. Potter. Hitwizards will be by shortly to have a word with you. Until then, do remain indoors."

Without a backward glance, the Obliviator went over to the gawkers, whom his colleague was already talking to in a soothing tone, and deftly confiscated the smartphone from the teenager. The last member of the trio produced a roll of barrier tape and cordoned off the front of the house.

Watching them process and disperse the Muggles with surreptitious swishes of their wands, Harry was impressed despite himself. It couldn't have been more than five minutes since Sirius called them; quite a contrast to his usual experiences with the Ministry.

Shutting the door, he strolled up to the hole into the first floor. "Oi! Sirius!"

"Coming!"

Harry busied himself with some desultory repairs around the foyer until about a minute later, his sooty and disheveled godfather maneuvered himself down through the gap in the ceiling.

"Floo's a no-go," he said. "I salvaged some powder and repaired the grate, but it wouldn't connect. The chimney must be busted. One of us will have to Apparate to Whitehall and report this."

"What are you on about?" Harry jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "The Obliviators are already here."

Sirius's brow knitted. "They are? But—"

There was a banging at the door, followed by a yell. "Magical Law Enforcement! Open up!"

Sirius blanched and clenched his fists, then, at Harry's concerned look, loosened them and motioned him to answer the door. As soon as Harry turned the knob, someone outside shoved the door, pushing him back. A wizard and a witch in drab brown robes marched in without a word and positioned themselves on either side of the entrance, their wands bared but not quite pointing at Harry and Sirius.

As Harry scowled and opened his mouth, two more people entered at a more sedate pace: a spindly, balding man in conservative navy robes, and behind him, Draco Malfoy. At Harry's surprised stare, the latter became greatly interested in his fingernails.

The man in navy lifted a monocle that was hanging off a golden chain and screwed it into his eye. His asymmetrical gaze passed over Harry and settled on Sirius.

"Good day," he said in a nasal voice. "Would you happen to be Sirius Black, the owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place?"

"Right in one," Sirius said. "Sorry, can't offer tea at the moment. As you can see, we've had a bit of an involuntary renovation."

The man didn't bat an eye at his flippant tone. "Indeed. My name is Llewellyn Ludovic Peabody." He paused self-importantly. "The vice-chief of the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau of the Beast Division, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the British Ministry of Magic."

While Harry parsed that mouthful, Sirius said, "I'm afraid you have no business here, Vice-Chief Peabody. We need Obliviators, not beast herders."

Peabody drew himself up. "A dragon loose in London means unauthorized breeding, which means illegal acquisition of Class A Non-Tradeable Material, which means it is indeed very much my business." He produced a parchment from his robes, unrolled it, and harrumphed. "Mr. Black, you stand accused of violating the 1709 Warlocks' Convention ban on dragon breeding, as well as causing a second—potentially first—degree breach of the Statute of Secrecy." He frowned at Sirius for a good ten seconds as though to communicate the gravity of the crimes. "Place your signature under the dotted line to concede the charges, and the Hitwizards will take it from there."

Sirius crossed his arms. "No."

"No?" Peabody's monocle fell out as he goggled at Sirius. "There are numerous Muggle eyewitnesses to an adult-sized dragon breaking out through the roof of your residence. No less than three Ministry departments are engaged in containing what is shaping up to be the worst dragon-related crisis since the Great Fire of London!"

"Look, I'm not denying there's a dragon," Sirius said. "It's just... We didn't breed him. He's an Animagus."

Peabody's lips pursed. "An Animagus, you say?"

Sirius nodded. "A first-timer—it's why he's not in his right mind."

Peabody tittered. "Mr. Black, _please_. I never heard of an Animagus, no matter how inexperienced, losing control over themselves—not to mention, magical forms are nothing but fiction."

"Bloody Cedric," Harry muttered. At least the bloke married a shrew... a _hot_ shrew, damn him.

"I rather hoped we could be civil about this, but you leave me no other choice." Peabody gestured to the MLE grunts, who came up to flank Sirius.

Harry raised his voice. "It's true! The bloke who transformed is my friend!" He looked at the stony-faced Hitwizard and Hitwitch before facing Peabody. "You know who I am, right? I wouldn't lie about something like this."

"The _Daily Prophet_ published quite an exposé on your relationship with the accused. Given your, ah, closeness, I cannot possibly take you at your word." Peabody buffed his monocle on his robes and pushed it back into his eye. "Out of respect for your station, Warlock Potter, I will overlook you lying to a Ministry official. Do not interfere further, lest you be charged with obstruction of justice."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Ah, you're one of those types."

"Beg your pardon?"

"A dried-up bureaucrat with ink for blood."

"I'll say!" Peabody exclaimed. "If maintaining law and order so that our citizens can live in peace makes me such a person in your eyes, then I shall wear that title with pride!"

Harry shook his head in disgust. His gaze landed on Malfoy, who was slouching by the door as if to make himself less conspicuous, and he sent him a pleading look.

Malfoy sighed and cleared his throat. "Ah, vice-chief? Potter and I happen to be acquainted, and I've had the misfortune of witnessing some of the bizarre incidents he has a knack of finding himself in. Would you perhaps consider the possibility—minuscule that it is—that he's telling the truth?"

Peabody chortled. "Dear me. Mr. Malfoy, if this cock-and-bull story convinced you, perhaps you're not ready for that promotion yet. I heard many tall tales throughout my career, and no offense to Mr. Black, but his is far from the most creative."

Draco's expression was neutral as he said, "Right you are, sir."

"I believe we are done here." Peabody tucked the parchment away. "We will speak again at the Ministry, Mr. Black, although it will be through the bars of a holding cell. Come, Mr. Malfoy, we must locate and put down that dragon before—"

"_Put down_?" Harry and Sirius cried in concert.

Peabody took a step back, while the Hitwizard and the Hitwitch grasped Sirius by the elbows.

"The Killing Curse, delivered by a sanctioned Ministry Executioner, is the standard procedure for cases such as this. You did not brand your dragon with Muggle-Repelling runes when it hatched, did you?" Peabody clicked his tongue at their blank looks. "A mandatory practice for the past few decades in the civilized parts of the world. Without the brand, any Muggle can record the sighting with their obnoxious gadgets. Seeing how an adult dragon is much too difficult to subdue..." He spread his hands. "You should have thought this through before you decided to raise one."

"I keep telling you, there's a man inside it," Harry said, squaring up to him. "Call off your butchers."

"If you accompany Mr. Black to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I'm certain someone will listen to your story." Peabody cast an agitated glance over Harry's shoulder. "For your own good, please don't act rashly."

Wheeling around, Harry found himself under wandpoint of the Hitwizards flanking his godfather. His hand froze inches away from his pocket. He met Sirius's eyes. They crinkled at the corners, and he gave a slight nod.

Harry peered at the basement door behind the trio, from which Walburga's shrieks could be heard if one strained their ears. "Uh oh. The Nundu in the basement sounds restless."

The Hitwitch merely frowned, but the Hitwizard glanced over his shoulder. That split-second was all Sirius needed to turn into a shaggy black dog and tackle him.

Harry whipped out his wand and fired off two Stunners in quick succession. When the brown-robes crumpled to the floor, he rounded on Peabody and Draco.

"They're resisting arrest! That's a criminal charge, it is!" Peabody sputtered and pointed a trembling finger at him and Sirius. Harry wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. "In my capacity as a Ministry official, I demand you desist at once!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Stupefy."

Peabody fell with an indignant expression etched on his face, the monocle popping out as his head thudded to the floor. Behind him, Draco held up his empty palms. Harry slowly lowered his wand.

"You missed a pompous git there," Sirius said, rejoining them in human form.

"That one's alright," Harry said, pushing down Sirius's extended wand. He fixed Draco with a stare. "You're not going to fight us, are you?"

"I thought my raised hands were enough of an indication," Malfoy said grumpily. "Did I hear right? Diggory's gone and turned himself into a dragon?"

Harry considered him. "With a little help, yeah. Keep his identity under wraps for now."

"Daft as he is to get involved with you two, Diggory's a decent bloke. It would be a shame if he got offed." Just when Harry began to wonder about the unusual show of empathy, Draco added, "I have twenty galleons riding on Puddlemere winning the league."

Sirius scoffed. "No chance, the Magpies have got it in the bag."

"Only if Puddlemere loses their star Seeker," Draco retorted, crossing his arms.

"Oi, focus," Harry said. "Malfoy, you need to convince the Ministry not to use lethal force. Sirius and I will go after Cedric, but there's no guarantee we'll get to him before they do." Seeing Draco frown, he added, "_Please_."

"Trying to persuade people like Peabody is a fool's errand, Potter. I barely believe you myself, and I've seen some of the stunts you've pulled." Malfoy held up a palm to stall his protests. "It might not even matter. Last I heard, the dragon was heading toward the Channel. If it crosses over, the Ministry will happily wash their hands of the affair. The head of our department was fretting about the diplomatic embarrassment, but went ahead and alerted France and the ICW headquarters anyway."

"Let me guess," Sirius said, his face darkening, "they have the same 'standard procedure' for rogue dragons as Britain does."

Malfoy nodded. "Nothing gets the ICW moving like a Statute breach. They even employ a unit of Squib"—he furrowed his brows— "dung-posters, was it? I'm told their job is to discredit any evidence of our world that might be floating around Muggle networks."

"That explains so much," Harry muttered.

"We're heading to the continent, then," Sirius said decisively, and raised his wand. "Accio cloak. Accio coin purse."

Harry snickered. "_Purse_."

Sirius gave him a dirty look. "Accio canteen. Accio Harry's nifty world map."

"Good call," he said as the Globetrotter's Map fluttered down from the upper floors. Following Sirius's example, he summoned a pair of rugged outer robes, a pointy hat, and his Warlock's Rod. "Clothes, money, vaguely phallic toy... broomstick?" He eyed the beat-up Firebolt propped against the wall.

"A single sports broomstick won't get us to another country in a reasonable time. We need something for long-range travel—on short notice, and from someone who'll keep quiet if Hitwizards come poking around." Sirius chewed his lip. "And that's the easy part. Tracking down a dragon won't be a walk in the park."

"Really? I figure we just follow the trail of fire and destruction."

Sirius sent him a flat stare. "Europe's not exactly small. Our best bet might just be to contact the local governments and hope they're willing to listen."

"If only we could get one of those ICW Squibs to pass on their information to us," Harry mused, gazing off into space. Those guys sure had dream jobs, getting paid to shitpost on the internet all day... He smacked his fist against his palm. "I've got an old friend who might help. We'll have to take a slight detour, but it should put us ahead of the authorities. You still got those two-way mirrors?"

Sirius raised his wand. "Accio." Two battered mirrors wobbled their way down the stairs and toward his extended hand.

"Good," Harry said," this might actually work."

A cough came from the entrance, and they turned to find Draco making himself comfortable in the corner beside the door. Resting his head against the wall, he asked casually, "Before you leave, could I bother you for a Stunning Charm?"

Harry snorted. "Are you serious?"

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed. "I can see where this is going, Potter, and I don't fancy getting involved in another one of your escapades. Hurry up."

He shrugged. "Don't have to tell me twice. Stupefy. Heh, his tongue's lolling out."

"Where to, then?" Sirius asked, pocketing the mirrors.

"My old neighborhood—I'll Side-Along you." He patted his robes for the felt-tip pen. "Just one more thing." Squatting down beside Peabody, he proceeded to scribble from the top of the man's receding hairline.

Sirius groaned. "More dicks?"

"No," he said indignantly, "a message. Sorry about the Stunner... Dragon's really Animagus... Gone to find him. There."

"Looks like I misjudged..." Sirius chortled when Harry scooted over to doodle on Malfoy's face. "Never mind. Didn't you say he was alright?"

"It's for his own good." He sketched a monocle around Malfoy's eye. "Now the Ministry won't think he's our accomplice."

"Your benevolence astounds me."

"He'll thank me later, you'll see." Pocketing the marker, he rose to his feet. "Ready?"

Sirius nodded. As Harry walked up to put a hand on his shoulder, he nearly tripped over the unconscious Hitwitch. Her limbs were tangled and her neck was bent at an awkward angle. Struck by sympathy, he drew his wand and aimed at the door.

"Depulso!"

The door banged open, and alarmed voices drifted in from the outside. Harry didn't wait for the Obliviators to come in; visualizing his destination, he pulled Sirius into the void.


	17. How to Track Your Dragon, Part 3

Landing on wet tarmac, Harry adjusted his hat against the freezing rain. Along either side of the street stretched identical brick houses, the driveways empty for the day. It belatedly occurred to him that they should have veiled themselves before Apparating, but a cursory scan of the surroundings revealed no shocked witnesses.

Sirius looked around dubiously. "_This_ is where we'll find help?"

"Yep, good old Magnolia Crescent. Give me a minute, I haven't been to these parts for years." Locating the nearest house number, he jogged ahead to determine in which direction they decreased. "This way!"

Sirius caught up. "Sure your friend still lives here?"

"Dudley mentioned running into him a couple years back." He glanced at Sirius. "Trust me on this. If the ICW has a unit dedicated to spreading misinformation, that means there _are_ nuggets of truth out there they don't want people to see—and from what I remember, the bloke's good at sifting through shit." At Sirius's disgusted look, he added, "Metaphorically."

"I'll take your word for it," Sirius said, wiping the moisture off his brow.

Mercifully, they didn't have to walk far before the house numbers on the right decreased to a six. Harry considered the unexceptional home and its iced-over front garden before walking up to the door and pressing the doorbell. A tinkling melody filtered from inside.

They waited for a good minute, but nobody answered the door. He pressed the button again.

"Maybe he's not home," Sirius suggested.

"If you knew him, you wouldn't say that." He held the button down with his thumb.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open revealing a middle-aged woman with unkempt hair and bags under her eyes. Harry winced guiltily when he took in her knee brace and crutch.

"Yes?" she said curtly.

"Hullo, Mrs. Witherspoon. We wanted to speak to..." He trailed off as the woman looked him over with raised eyebrows. Realizing his mistake, he sheepishly pulled off his pointy hat and tucked it under his armpit. It was too late to do anything about his robes. "Uh, this is..."

She waved off his explanation. "I understand, dear—you must be Brandon's friends. Come in, then. Don't bother with your shoes." Opening the door wider, she shuffled aside.

They wiped their feet on the mat and stepped inside. Mrs. Witherspoon's gaze lingered on Sirius's fur-trimmed cloak, and her lips quirked.

Sirius smiled and mimed a hat tip. "Sirius Black, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is mine, good sir." Giggling, she shook her head. "Is that what I'm supposed to say? Never thought men your age were into those pretend-games, but whatever makes you happy, I suppose."

Sirius's smile faded, and a look of befuddlement came over his face. "_Pretend games_?" he mouthed to Harry.

Heedless of the effect her words had, Mrs. Witherspoon limped over to a door at the end of the foyer and opened it. A staircase led down into darkness.

"Branny!" she screeched, startling both men. "Branny, you have guests!"

No reply came. Mrs. Witherspoon sighed and thumped aside.

"He must be watching his cartoons. Go right down, gents, but mind your step." She patted her leg with a humorless laugh. "The stairs are a tad steep."

"Cheers." Harry strode to the staircase. "Don't mind us, we'll let ourselves out when we're done."

"Stay as long as you like. My son doesn't get many visitors these days," she said wistfully as he passed her.

Harry gingerly descended the stairs. His palm encountered something sticky on the handrail, and wrinkling his nose, he wiped it on his robes.

Sirius's heavier steps followed behind. "Your friend's a Muggleborn, I take it?"

"Nope, just Muggle."

"Quit pulling my leg." Sirius paused as if waiting for him to say he was joking. "Seriously? How come his mother acted like she had seen wizardwear before?"

Harry snorted. "I'll explain later."

"I thought this friend of yours was a catoptromancer or a scryer! What good is a Muggle?"

"It wouldn't do to underestimate him," he said sagely. "He's a wizard in his own right."

The air grew staler the lower they went, and by the time they stepped onto the grimy floor, Harry struggled not to gag from the reek of sweat, spoiled food, and bodily fluids better left unmentioned. Only his iron will stayed his hand from casting a Bubblehead Charm.

The basement was a single room broken up by load-bearing columns, although given the clutter and the dim lighting, it did not feel very spacious. Arrayed along the walls covered with peeling posters were cardboard boxes that teemed with books and disc cases, a messy bed, and backlit shelves holding neatly arranged, spotless figurines.

The primary source of light was a large computer display that showed a nude wolf-eared girl cavorting in a wheat field. The display sat atop a desk every inch of which was strewn with cans of energy drinks and styrofoam containers. Before the desk, with his back turned to them and his ears covered by headphones, sat the man himself.

Harry coughed. "Hey, Brandon."

The chair creaked, but it was merely so that Brandon could recline further, scratch his belly, and let out a thunderous fart. Glancing at Sirius, who appeared dumbstruck, Harry sighed and walked up to the desk.

"Brandon. Oi, mate." Getting no reaction still, he tapped his shoulder.

Brandon let out a girlish shriek and whirled around. The chair lurched over, and flailing his arms, he followed it to the floor. The headphone cord stretched taut and yanked them off his ears.

Harry's lips twitched. "Long time no see."

"Who—what—" Brandon hyperventilated as he scrabbled away until his shoulders pressed to the desk. His face was pale and oily, and his acne even worse than Harry recalled.

"Whoa, hey, calm down." He raised his palms. "Remember me? It's Harry. From the club?"

Brandon's breathing gradually slowed as he squinted at him through his smudged glasses. "What... what are you doing here?" He planted a palm on the desk to haul himself up. "How did you get in?"

"Your mother let us in. Sorry for surprising you, but we're kind of in a hurry." Harry tried to catch Brandon's eye as he righted the chair and picked up the headphones. "Your skills are required for a job."

Brandon twitched, then murmured a profanity. "Mum put you up to this, didn't she? I keep explaining that I'll soon have more money than I know what to do with, but she just doesn't listen! I won't slave away at some fast-food joint, you can tell her that."

Harry worked his jaw before speaking. "Er, it's not a job, as such—we wouldn't actually pay you." Seeing Brandon scowl, he hedged, "Unless you _wanted _to be compensated, which is totally fair—"

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested." Brandon tapped a greasy spacebar, causing the wolf-eared girl to pause mid-stride. "You can't just barge in here and tell me what to do. I'm incredibly busy right now, and—"

"That so?" Sirius piped up. "Busy with what?" He didn't acknowledge the warning look Harry shot him.

"Pfft, loads of stuff." Brandon folded his arms as he glanced shiftily at Sirius. "Not to brag, but I'm working on a groundbreaking fantasy novel. It's sure to be a hit."

Sirius peered skeptically at the computer screen.

Brandon grabbed the mouse and minimized the video, but that didn't result in much of a difference, because the desktop wallpaper featured a dog-eared maid in a suggestive pose. "Just doing some research—not that I expect someone like you to understand."

Sirius snorted and turned to address Harry. "I don't know what you expected, but the twerp's useless. Let's get out of here before I suffocate." He pressed his sleeve over his nose. "Merlin's pants, it gets worse by the minute."

"Mum hasn't been down to clean," Brandon muttered. He looked at a figurine on the shelf beside Sirius. "And that's not Merlin, it's Medea. What a pleb."

"What?" Sirius said blankly.

"Whut?" Brandon mimicked, rolling his eyes. "What's with the lame Jon Snow cosplay, anyway? _Game of Thrones_ is so last year."

"Who's..." Sirius shook his head and stalked toward him. "Listen, pal, you need to watch your attitude. Harry's friend or not—"

Harry held him back. "Calm down," he whispered. "Let me handle this."

Sirius clicked his tongue, took his hand out of his pocket, and crossing his arms, leaned back against the wall. Harry turned around and did a double-take: Brandon was clutching a lacquered, slightly curved scabbard in his trembling hands.

"Don't make me use this." Brandon flicked the hilt with his thumb, baring a centimeter of the blade. "If I draw my katana, you won't get off easy... You're trespassing, it'll be self-defense..."

"Brandon..." Harry sighed exasperatedly. "Could you just hear me out? After that, we'll leave if you want us to, promise. Come on... for old times' sake?"

"I don't know." Brandon fixed him with a calculating look as he nudged the sword back into its sheath. "You've changed after you got accepted into that fancy boarding school. Became too good to hang out with us."

He shrugged apologetically. "Lots of stuff happened."

"What could possibly be more important than the third season of _Spice and Wolf_?" Brandon pointed a pudgy finger at him. "You became a total normie!"

He gasped. "Did not! I watch anime and everything!"

Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? Bet it's nothing but mainstream shows you won't be embarrassed talking about with your normie friends. You probably go to parties... maybe even have a girlfriend?" At Harry's lack of denial, he shook his head ruefully. "I knew it."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. The accusation cut him to the bone. "Er... I don't work?" he offered hopefully.

Brandon perked up. "What do you live on, then?"

He doubted Brandon would believe him if he said he sold figurines of his likeness. "I own a business of sorts."

Brandon threw his hands up. "That's even worse! Right, you need to leave."

"Can't we—" He backtracked as Brandon drew the blade. "Whoa, careful, those things are dangerous. You never know when you're going to stab your leg or something."

"Get out!" Brandon advanced on him, brandishing the sword. "Out, out, out—"

"Expelliarmus," Sirius said.

The scarlet jet of light hit Brandon's chest, forcing him back as the sword soared from his grip and clattered to the floor. He gaped first at his empty hands, then at Sirius's extended wand. Harry rounded on his godfather, but Brandon spoke first.

"Wicked! What is that, some kind of a phaser? A repulsor beam?" Forgetting his katana, he waddled toward Sirius. "I don't see a trigger. Is it neurally activated?"

Sirius barely managed to stow his wand before Brandon was upon him. Pressing his back to the wall, he glanced around for an escape. "Nothing that kooky, no."

Panting, Brandon stared at Sirius's pocket. "Are you from a secret government agency? Harry, too?"

"Get off me—no, we're definitely _not_ from the government!"

Seeing Brandon's shoulders droop, Harry picked up the thread of the conversation. "Which is what we'd _have_ to tell you if we belonged to one." He waited for Brandon to turn his way and gave him an exaggerated wink. "After all, such a hypothetical agency would be top secret."

Brandon gaped at him, then let out a hysterical laugh. "I hoped my abilities would be recognized eventually," he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I just didn't think today would be the day."

Harry gave him a tentative grin. "You'll help us, then?"

"Of course," Brandon said in a tone that implied it was a stupid question. He sniffled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "So, what are we fighting: invaders from a parallel universe? Star-eating aliens? Eldritch horrors from another dimension? Don't worry, I won't balk no matter how horrifying the truth is."

Harry exchanged a glance with Sirius. The sudden enthusiasm was, in a way, as difficult to deal with as the preceding hostility. "Let's start on a more local scale, shall we? Are you still following those cryptozoology boards?"

"Yeah, why?" Brandon bounced in place, which was somewhat unsightly on a man with a belly as generous as his. "Wait, don't tell me—it's a skin-walker, isn't it? No, you said local... The Beast of Exmoor? Nessie? The reptilians?"

"Eh, technically," Harry said, tilting his hand side to side. "It's dragons. The flying, fire-breathing, size-of-a-house kind."

Brandon frowned. "Are you taking the piss? No one talks about dragons. That lot chase cryptids, not fairy tales."

He pulled a face. "Humor me and see if anyone's reported anything along those lines, won't you?"

Brandon stared at him as if expecting him to say it was a joke, then slowly nodded. "Alright, then."

The desk chair creaked as Brandon sank into it. His fingers flew over the keyboard, launching a browser and opening dozens upon dozens of tabs. Harry and Sirius inched closer and watched with bated breath—mostly because of the smell.

The tabs cycled so quickly Harry barely registered their contents. Nothing appeared to be dragon-related, though, and Brandon's disgruntled mumbling corroborated that impression. Harry was beginning to fear that Sirius had been right about this being a waste of time when Brandon lingered on a grainy video thumbnail depicting a golden blur in a dim alleyway. Harry stooped closer.

"Huh." Brandon scrolled down to skim the comments. "Some weirdo's trying to pass off furry porn as a genuine sighting. Only a matter of time before he gets banned." He switched to the next tab.

"Bring it back!" Harry waved at the screen impatiently. "Play it!"

Brandon glanced at him incredulously but did as asked. A vertical video with black bars on the sides filled the screen. The cameraman's hands were trembling badly as he jabbered non-stop in what sounded like French. It wasn't hard to see why: in the middle of a narrow street, brushing the facades on either side with its wings, squatted an enormous golden dragon.

"That's him!" cried Harry and Sirius.

"Who?" Brandon asked.

Harry shushed him, his eyes glued to the screen. The street was cobbled and the surrounding buildings were historic, but judging by the cars parked along one side, it was a Muggle area. The camera was shaking too badly to make out any license plates.

The claws of the dragon's hind legs struck sparks from the cobbles as it lumbered toward a van and pressed up against its back doors. Latching onto the roof with its front legs, the dragon thrust its hips. A screech of metal and shattering glass preceded the blare of the van's alarm. The dragon puffed out smoke like a steam locomotive as it humped vigorously.

Sirius made a choking noise. "Is he..."

Harry nodded, dumbfounded. "He _is_."

"Told you it was porn," Brandon said. "Dragons fucking cars, it's some meme fetish—"

"Quiet," Sirius barked.

The van's suspension creaked faster and faster until the dragon tilted its head back and roared in concert with the dying wail of the alarm. The beast nuzzled the van's torn roof, then wobbled away and scaled a wall, sending several balconies crumbling down. The operator jumped back with a yell, and the video tumbled before cutting off.

Harry and Sirius burst out laughing.

"That car's not going anywhere soon," Sirius said, slapping his thigh.

"Imagine having to clean dragon spunk off the back seats," Harry quipped. "Where was this taken?"

Brandon peered at the screen. "Well, the uploader's got a French flag, but I can't tell you anything beyond that." He swiveled on his chair to face Harry. "Hang on—you're kidding, right? No way _this_ is the clip you were after. It's obviously CGI."

"How do you know?"

"Because everyone says so!" Brandon pivoted back and scrolled through the posts. "Look, someone analyzed the shadows and found lots of mistakes... and this guy says he can tell it's fake by the pixels... and this jackass is claiming this is now a furry thread." He right-clicked on the adjacent thumbnail and hovered the cursor over 'Save image as' before closing the menu and throwing a chagrined glance over his shoulder. "Disgusting, eh? I don't know what the mods are doing, this thread should've been nuked ages ago."

"Ignore the shitposts," Harry said impatiently. "And save the video while you can. Reckon you could give us a more precise location?"

Brandon clicked rapidly. "There was a street sign in the back... I could extract a still frame and ask elsewhere if anyone recognizes the place."

"Brilliant—and keep an eye out for more reports. We'll be away chasing it, so contact us immediately if you find out more." He glanced at his godfather. "The mirrors?"

Sirius handed over the paired hand mirrors from his pocket. Harry extended one to Brandon, who turned it over in his hands skeptically.

"It's, uh, an encrypted channel only we can use," Harry said. "Just say my name out loud, and it'll connect."

"Harry." Brandon blinked when the mirror lit up. "Whoa, the resolution's amazing. Is this OLED?" He tapped the glass with a grimy nail. "Though the spy-movie disguise is overdone if you ask me. Hey, do I get my own phaser too?"

"Er... There are some prerequisites that you don't meet," he said diplomatically. "Look, we're racing against time, so I can't explain all the details. What matters is that you can save an innocent life."

Brandon's eyes gleamed. "Is she cute?"

"It's a _he_, actually." Brandon didn't appear impressed, so Harry added quickly, "And the fate of the world hinges on it too. Please, you're the only one we can ask."

Brandon puffed out his chest. "Say no more, old friend. My skills are at your disposal."

The windows on the screen rearranged at a dizzying speed as Brandon downloaded the video and ran it frame-by-frame looking for clues. Harry nodded in approval. He was about to tell Sirius they were good to go when Brandon's left hand drifted under the desk to caress a greenish statue atop the computer tower in what seemed to be an unconscious habit.

Harry's eyes widened as he made out a jade figurine of a naga. Had it somehow found its way here from Grimmauld Place? But no, where his held a tortured expression, this one was joyous and carefree down to the relaxed bend of her tail. Yet despite the different mood, the figurine unmistakably depicted the same woman.

"Where did you get that?" His voice came out unexpectedly harsh.

"Huh?" Brandon's hand stilled. "Oh, this. Mum bought it for me in a car boot sale years ago."

"Sell it to me." He stared at the statuette. How magnificent would it look next to his? And... what if there were _more_? Then it would be his duty as a connoisseur of the finer things in life to collect them so that he could marvel at every aspect of this beautiful creature—

"Nah." Brandon's grubby fingers closed over the figurine. "It's not my thing, exactly, but I can't sell a gift from my mum."

He gritted his teeth. "You _will_ hand it over unless you want to—"

"Harry?" Sirius arched his eyebrows at him. "This isn't the time to squabble over toys."

Harry turned to retort, but his ire abated when he took in Sirius's reproving stare and Brandon's confusion. He rubbed his forehead. What had come over him?

Sirius frowned at him, then turned and clapped Brandon on the shoulder. "We have a dragon to catch. Keep us updated, yeah?"

"Will do, boss," Brandon said brightly, and went back to work.

Harry couldn't help but eye the figurine covetously. The sight of Brandon's sweaty hand pawing something that exquisite offended him to the core.

Sirius seized him by the arm and dragged him to the staircase. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing, it's... it looked just like..." He shook his head and twisted out of Sirius's grip. Perhaps it was because of the fresh air wafting from upstairs, but the haze in his mind lifted. "Forget it. We've got ourselves a lead, so now we need broomsticks that'll get us there on time."

"From someone who'll sell them without awkward questions and won't snitch on us afterward," Sirius reminded, halting before the stairs. "Guess it's back to Knockturn for us."

He grinned. "Screw that second-hand crap—let's drop by Padma's. I'll take us right inside, so no one will even know we were there. "

Sirius groaned. "At least _try_ to be gentle. It felt like you left my spleen behind last time."

Glancing at the engrossed Brandon, he clasped Sirius's shoulder. "Hold on to your spleen."

He spun on his heel to rematerialize among ceiling-high shelves stacked with tents and camping gear. Tripping over Sirius's foot, he stumbled backward into something.

"I say, watch where you're going!" cried the something.

Harry glanced back at an older wizard in a safari outfit. "My bad."

He took off toward the end of the aisle, leaving Sirius to mollify the stranger. As he was about to step into the open area before the counter, a young brown-skinned witch barred his way. Her trendy maroon robes looked rather flattering on her figure.

"_Harry_. I should've known." Padma jabbed her finger at the wall to her right. "How many times do I have to tell you? It disturbs customers."

Leaning out of the aisle, he saw a notice in red reading 'NO APPARITION'. "Aww, did you make that just for me?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "You and some others who can't seem to take a hint. If you absolutely must Apparate in here, at least use the delivery room in the back."

Sirius squeezed out from behind him. "Our sincere apologies, Miss Patil. We have a bit of an emergency on our hands and require your expert services."

"Mr. Black?" Padma's eyelashes fluttered. "That's understandable, then." She lowered her gaze and smoothed down her robes.

"Is that a new shop uniform?" Sirius asked. "Rather fetching, I must say."

Harry opened his mouth and raised a finger, then lowered it and sighed.

Padma beamed. "Thank you, my mother and I came up with the design ourselves. Um..." She shook her head slightly and assumed a more professional demeanor. "You said you had an emergency?"

"Me and my godson here have to go on an urgent trip to the continent to retrieve a... runaway animal. We'll take the fastest broomsticks you have."

She spared a glance for Harry. "Oh, what did you get yourself into this time?"

He scowled. "Hey, Sirius is as much at fault as me—more, actually!"

"Somehow I doubt that." Her skeptical gaze lingered on him before she faced Sirius. "Please, follow me."

She led them along the counter and toward the far wall, which was crammed to the ceiling with horizontally-mounted broomsticks of all shapes and sizes. Padma gestured at a pair featuring peculiarly short tail twigs and long shafts that bristled with luggage baskets, hooks, and leg stirrups. Harry's lip curled in disgust.

"If you need to fly long-distance in comfort, nothing beats the Zibens," Padma said. "Wind protection, built-in Muggle repellent, Anti-Collision Charm, patented Chameleon Cloak... We've had them in stock for a while, but our customers are leery of foreign brands."

"Chameleon Cloak?" Harry asked.

"A trademarked name for one-way Disillusionment. Makes you invisible from the outside, but you can still see yourself—and your travel companions, if you stick close."

"How do you reckon they accomplished that?" He eyed the brooms with newfound respect. "Perhaps it runs along the boundary of the protective charms, like a soap bubble—"

"Not the time for geeking out," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "What's the cruise speed like?"

"Officially, three hundred miles per hour," Padma said. "But in optimal weather conditions, they can easily sustain five. Latvia never signed the treaty limiting broomstick velocity."

Sirius whistled. "How much?"

"Two hundred forty Galleons apiece. Import taxes drive the price up, I'm afraid," she said apologetically.

Not batting an eye, Sirius hefted his coin purse out of his inner pocket. "We'll take two—don't bother wrapping them."

Padma's eyes lit up as she accepted the purse. "Thank you for your patronage, Mr. Black."

He flashed her a rakish smile. "Sirius, please."

"Then I must insist on Padma." She tucked her hair behind her ear, her other hand sagging from the weight of the purse.

Harry's eyebrows climbed his forehead as he looked from one to the other. This was just _wrong_.

She kept her eyes locked with Sirius's for a moment before twitching. "Oh! I almost forgot—since you're buying a travel broom, I'm legally obliged to inform you that upon entering a foreign country, you must register with its Ministry of Magic or the corresponding institution."

Sirius sketched a half-bow. "Consider us informed."

Padma giggled, and Harry barely resisted the urge to make gagging noises. She sent him a funny look before returning her attention to his godfather.

"I'll be back with your change shortly, _Sirius_," she promised, and started toward the counter.

Sirius's gaze lingered appreciatively on her back before he turned to collect his purchases, oblivious to Harry's glare. Harry scowled and hurried after Padma. She had ducked behind the counter and was watching the wire-fingered hands of the till count out the coins from the purse and deposit them into the drawer. A mechanical counter atop the machine just rolled over one hundred.

He cleared his throat. "Er, Padma..."

She raised her gaze. "Yes?"

"Could you do me a favor and pass on a message to Su? Ask her to try and smooth things over from her side. She should know what I mean by the time she gets it."

"Alright," Padma said, tapping a finger on the counter. "And?"

He cocked his head. "_And_?"

She sighed. "I'll tell her that you'll be away on an urgent matter, but not to worry, because you have things well in hand—and that you're sorry for asking her to cover for you, _again_."

Blinking, he ran the sentence through his mind. "Right, let's go with that. Thanks."

"I can't imagine what the poor girl sees in you." A faint smile belied her words. She sidled from behind the counter and hugged him. "Be careful."

"You know me, I always am. If the Hitwizards ask, we haven't been here, by the way."

She drew back and stared. "Hitwizards? Are you on the run from the law again?"

"The less you know, the easier you'll sleep at night." Chuckling at her peeved look, he reached for the purse that the till's spindly fingers had helpfully tied with a drawstring.

"Oh, I'll take that—"

"We're in a hurry, and you've got customers waiting." He nudged his chin at a khaki-clad wizard who hovered nearby holding a pair of dragonhide boots. Hopefully, they would find Cedric before he was made into those.

Her face fell. "I guess you're right. Tell Sirius he's welcome at Patil Expeditions any time."

"I will," he lied. "Toodles."

He rejoined his godfather and exchanged the much slimmer purse for one of those atrocities the Latverians, or whatever they were called, were passing off as broomsticks. Grappling its awkwardly long shaft, he motioned Sirius to follow him past a sign prohibiting access to anyone but the staff and into a windowless room with shipping crates stacked in a corner.

"Figured I'd check with Brandon before we take off," he said, retrieving the mirror.

Sirius cocked his head. "I admit you were right about him, but surely he hasn't found anything so soon?"

"We'll see." He looked at the murky glass. "Brandon. Oi, mate, come in."

A stubbly double chin swam into view. "Am I supposed to tap this or—oh, hey, Harry! What's that laundry pole behind you?"

"Nothing important," he said, nudging the Zibens from sight. "Do you have anything for us?"

A keyboard clacked in the background. "Got some responses about the video's location, but nothing certain. Two people said it was Marseille, but on another forum I got Figeac—however you pronounce that—Lucerne, and Rennes. There's also a bloke from Switzerland who swore he lived on that street—"

"Slow down." He glanced over the mirror's frame at his godfather. "Are you getting this?"

"Stick to France," Sirius said, crouching to spread the Globetrotter's Map on the floor.

He relayed the order to Brandon, then parroted the town names back to Sirius. "Well done," he said into the mirror. "Keep at it."

Brandon nodded solemnly. "Brandon out—no, wait! I forgot to ask, do I get a codename?

"Uh... Sure, knock yourself out."

"I want to be Nightblade!" Brandon swung an imaginary sword, sound effects and all. "No, no, wait—Soulreaper!" Furrowing his brows, he scratched his stubble. "Hmm... Is that too edgy?"

Harry saw Sirius tap the map with his wand and wave to him. "I gotta go."

"Got it!" Brandon pulled a dramatic face and covered one eye with his hand. "Shadowlord out."

Snorting, he pocketed the mirror and squatted down before the map.

"We're in luck," Sirius said, pointing at a town called Rennes. "Every other place is too far. Dragons are insanely fast if they get up in the jetstreams, but even the fastest breeds wouldn't have made it to Southern France, never mind Switzerland, in such a short time."

Harry traced the path they would have to take with his eyes. "Almost straight south. Should I pop us back to Surrey? I haven't been much closer to the Channel than that."

"You need to get out more." Sirius rolled up the map and rose with a grunt. "I can take us all the way to Dorset and save us a good hundred miles." Picking up his broomstick, he proffered a hand.

Harry clasped it and braced himself. Sirius spun on the spot, and for the third time today, Harry's body turned into goo and was sucked through a straw.


	18. How to Track Your Dragon, Part 4

They materialized atop a jagged headland overlooking the English Channel. Harry groaned and patted himself down; Sirius had a point when he complained about being Side-Alonged. Besides the usual discomfort, there was the added helplessness of not having any control.

Gulping down the frigid salty air, he looked around. The shingle beach below was deserted, as was the pedestrian path behind. Snowflakes drifted from the slate sky and melted on contact with the ground.

"Point me." Sirius waited for his wand to point north, and facing the opposite direction, mounted his broomstick. "Ready?"

Peering at the steely waters, Harry straddled his Zibens. "The Frogs won't know what hit them."

"Rule Britannia!" Sirius cried, and blasted off in a spray of mud.

Harry spluttered and wiped his cheek. Sirius's retreating form was dissolving against the sky as though painted over with a brush. Kicking off hastily, he yelped when the brisk acceleration sent him sliding back along the broomstick until his legs wedged into the stirrups. They were attached unusually far in the back, and the overly long shaft before him looked ridiculous.

Sirius's back shimmered into view, and Harry tried to swerve aside—_try_ being the keyword, because no matter how hard he pulled, the broom didn't turn more than a couple of degrees in as many seconds. Fortunately, it proved enough to avoid crashing before their journey had properly started, and soon they were flying side by side. Snowflakes hurtled at them from the front and spun off an invisible boundary around the brooms.

"It's like riding a missile!" Harry cried, then grimaced sheepishly; despite the tumultuous weather, there was no wind inside the protective bubble to yell against.

Sirius nudged his broom experimentally. "These handle like a boat, but they pack some power. Let's rise above the clouds and see what they can really do."

Harry looked up at the sky and followed Sirius's lead. The angle of their ascent steepened, but the Zibens continued to accelerate smoothly, making him feel like he was truly riding a rocket.

The surroundings grew hazier and hazier until he couldn't make out more than several yards ahead. He kept glancing at Sirius to adjust his course as the clouds around thinned and thickened again. Then glaring sunlight struck him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, seeing red through his eyelids.

He tugged the brim of his hat lower and squinted. The sky above was brilliant azure, and the peaks of the clouds below shone in the sun. His hands tightened on the handle as he considered just how high they must've risen, but the broomstick flew so steadily that his alarm passed. The air felt cooler, but nowhere near the biting cold it must've been at this altitude.

"Not something I'd like to try on my Firebolt," he admitted grudgingly.

Sirius rummaged one-handed in his pocket and produced the Globetrotter's Map. Getting his bearings, he leveled out the broom and nudged it to the right. "Blimey, look at us eat up the miles. At this rate, we'll get there in under half an hour."

Harry drank in the sight. With nothing but the sky above and the sea of clouds below, it was difficult to tell how fast they were going. There wasn't even any wind in his face like when piloting a _real_ broomstick. "They're still ugly as sin."

"Ugly as sin, but fast." Sirius patted the handle of his Zibens. "Truth be told, I was planning on returning these—half a thousand Galleons doesn't grow on trees—but I just might keep them." He chuckled. "Won't have to break Padma's heart, either."

Harry grunted and fixed his gaze ahead. For a while, they flew accompanied only by the muted whistle of the wind.

"Did she say anything about me before we left?" Sirius asked casually.

"Okay, yeah, not cool," Harry said, facing him. "You need to stop dreaming about getting under her skirt."

"I would never!" Sirius grinned. "And even if I was, what's the problem? Don't tell me you're still entertaining those ridiculous fantasies—"

He jabbed a finger at him. "The _problem_ is that you're twice her age. Literally!"

Sirius looked thoughtful for a moment. "So I am. Heh, still got it." At Harry's growl, he added, "Lighten up, it's all in good fun. Doesn't mean I'd seriously pursue her."

He glowered. "You're lucky she went along with it. I've seen her shut down a come-on so brutally the bloke ran off in tears."

"You have a lot to learn, godson. Tell me, what's my reputation? In terms of my relations to the fairer sex in particular?"

He threw up his hands, the broom cruising straight as an arrow. "You're an incorrigible womanizer who flirts with anything that has a pulse!"

"Exactly!" Sirius cried. "So why, pray tell, would she get angry if she knew what to expect? If anything, she might've felt there was something wrong with her if I _didn't_ try to chat her up."

To his chagrin, Harry failed to find any flaws in that reasoning. "Just keep your paws off her," he grumbled. "If you're chasing younger skirts, how about I introduce you to someone? A waitress at the Three Broomsticks by the name of Millicent Bulstrode."

"The one who famously broke up a brawl without casting a single spell?" Sirius asked innocently.

He struggled not to grin. "The very same. You've met?"

Sirius buffed his nails on his robes. "Oh, I'd say we did a fair bit more than that."

"What?" Harry furrowed his brows as a horrible suspicion formed in his mind. "No. No fucking way. How... I mean, when..."

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Sirius said, grinning ear to ear.

"But she... she looks like she'd break you in half!"

Sirius laughed. "You didn't hear it from me, but Milly's a meek little kitty in the sheets."

"You... you _horndog_," he said, too stunned to come up with anything harsher.

Sirius smirked. "Guilty as charged."

Harry shook his head in disbelief and leaned over his broom to accelerate. The clouds were thinning out and exposing patches of a meandering coastline far below. He followed Sirius's cues in adjusting his course, looking more at the broom than its insufferably smug pilot.

The wind outside the protective bubble gradually loudened until it settled into a constant howl. Harry figured they were approaching the limits of what the Zibens was capable of. He relaxed in the stirrups and eyed the bleak brown fields below in an attempt to gauge how fast they were going. They must be well into France by now.

Sirius confirmed his suspicion not ten minutes later. "We're approaching Rennes. Should we do a flyover?"

"Can't hurt." Cedric was likely long gone, but they had to check.

They nudged their brooms down, not so much diving as looping in a protracted spiral, and descended toward the sprawling low-built city. Crowds marched through its winding streets, and multiple fires belched smoke into the sky.

Sirius whistled. "Cedric sure did a number on this place. Did all those Muggles see him, do you reckon?"

"That's a headache for the French Obliviators," Harry said. "We just have to find him and get out with no one any the wiser."

They flew toward the nearest plume of smoke and discovered a burning car parked by the curb. No claw marks gouged the pavement nor the nearby buildings, so they flew toward the next fire. It too turned out to be a torched car, as did the one after it.

"Does Cedric consider them competitors or something?" Harry mused.

"Whatever's the reason, it helps that he left a trail," Sirius said.

At the end of the trail of carnage, they came across a crowd of clamorous locals and struggled to understand their vociferations for several minutes to no avail. Rising higher, they saw no more fires ahead nor any damage to the city's rooftops.

"Blast it," Sirius said. "He must've left."

"Let me check with Brandon." Harry retrieved the enchanted mirror. "Brandon. Oi, come in." The mirror's surface stubbornly reflected his own weary countenance. He sighed. "Shadowlord."

A chubby physiognomy appeared in the murky glass. Harry glared at his chuckling godfather before returning his gaze to the mirror. "Hey. Any news on your end?"

"Not yet. You don't have to keep calling me, I'll contact you as soon as..." Brandon's eyes widened. "Are you _flying_? Where are you right now?"

"Just above Rennes." He flipped the mirror and swept it around, hearing Brandon exclaim his surprise, then brought it back to his face. "Cars are burning all over the place, so Ced—the dragon must've spent some time here, but we can't find any—"

"Burning cars, you say?" Brandon clicked and clacked in the background. His double chin quivered in laughter. "That's got nothing to do with your cryptid."

He frowned. "But there's all this commotion—"

"Yeah, the riots. Just the usual." Seeing Harry's confusion, Brandon snorted. "Have you been living under a rock? The French torch cars all the time."

Harry exchanged a perplexed look with Sirius. "And why do they do that?"

"Dunno," Brandon said, shrugging. "Must be angry about the rising price of the baguette or something."

He raked a hand through his hair. "Bloody Frogs. Right then, we need to know where to go from here. If there isn't anything on your boards, what about the Mug—er, mainstream media? Any major fires, explosions, unexplained destruction recently?"

Brandon faced away, his gaze darting side to side and his lips moving soundlessly. This went on for several minutes.

He rapped the mirror. "Find anything?"

Brandon spared him a glance. "If you wanted me to monitor the news, you should've said so from the beginning. Setting correct mission parameters is crucial, I thought secret agents knew that."

"My bad," he ground out. "So?"

"Let's see... I haven't the foggiest if this is related, but there's a large forest fire in northern Spain that's trending on social media." Brandon reclined in his chair and stretched. "Otherwise nothing big as far as I can see."

"A forest fire, huh. You don't think..." Glancing to Sirius, Harry found him already prodding the map with his wand. "Great work. Keep an eye on the news."

"I shall," Brandon said somberly. "Shadowlord out." For one moment, he almost looked dependable, but the impression was ruined by a muffled yell that drifted through as Harry was pocketing the mirror. "Mum! I'm hungry!"

Grinning wryly, Harry drifted closed to Sirius and leaned toward the map, which now showed northern Spain.

"That's a lot of ground to cover," Sirius said, scrolling through the forested areas with taps of his wand.

"I've been thinking," Harry said slowly. "Cedric's little more than a bundle of instincts now, right?"

Sirius nodded absently. "One of the downsides of our method."

The broomsticks bumped, and Harry grabbed onto Sirius's to keep them still. "So eat, sleep, and rut. The first two don't help us much, but if he's horny enough to screw a car, the thing he wants the most is—"

"A nice lady dragon to bone!" Sirius's wand hovered over the map. "Mark dragon reserves."

As though scribbled by an invisible quill, an outline appeared around a dot in the Cantabrian Mountains. Sirius zoomed in, and the dot resolved into a tiny ink dragon. Harry decided to stop making fun of him for his inability to deal with anything electronic; he had no idea the map even had such a function.

"The French don't breed dragons, so this is the only reserve for almost a thousand miles," Sirius said, scrolling the map around. "The forest fire, and now this..."

"He'll be there," Harry said with conviction.

They headed south, once again pushing the broomsticks to the limit. While a storm developing over what Sirius said was the Bay of Biscay forced them into a detour, it wasn't long before snowy mountain peaks loomed ahead, glimmering in the late afternoon sun.

Sirius consulted the map and nudged the handle down with one hand, aiming for a canyon between two peaks. They followed the canyon's twists and bends until it expanded into a vast bowl-shaped valley hemmed in on three sides by precipitous mountains.

Harry's skin tingled from the magic saturating the air, and he had a hunch that if he showed the landscape through the mirror, Brandon would see nothing but impassable rock. In reality, there was a deciduous forest surrounding a deep blue lake, beside which stood a hamlet of squat stone houses. The light mist swathing the valley gave it an ethereal atmosphere. Mounds of snow lingered wherever there was shade, but unlike back home, one could tell that spring wasn't far off.

They descended in a lazy curve until the mountains blocked the sun, and Harry sighed in relief at no longer having to squint against the glare. He scanned the leafless treetops and the hamlet, but the only movement was the smoke going up from the chimneys of the houses.

"Where are all the dragons?"

"Some breeds hibernate," Sirius said. "Look, there's one!"

Harry followed his extended finger to the shoreline of the lake and glimpsed a silvery-blue head peeking out from leafless underbrush. It dipped into the water as the beastie drank deeply.

Sirius chuckled. "Just a baby now, but I wouldn't want to meet him when he's fully grown." He waved to Harry. "Let's get a better look at this place."

Starting from the lake, they flew in ever-widening circles over the forest. Only once did they spy another dragon: a much larger silvery-blue specimen that was tearing up some kind of a goat at the edge of the woods. Harry started squirming impatiently on the third loop.

"I'll go check out that mountain," he announced. "The hole over there looks deep enough to be a lair."

Sirius frowned. "Let's not get distracted. We'll get there in due course."

"Cedric's too large to be hiding under the trees," he said, swerving his broom. "More importantly, I have to take a leak, and I'd rather not do it in a forest teeming with dragons."

Sirius sighed and followed. "Don't forget, you'll lose the Disillusionment the moment you dismount."

"Hence the cave." Harry eyed the nearing crevice. Its lip was covered in snow, but the overhanging cliff protected the shadowy alcove beneath it from the elements.

Wrestling the broomstick into something resembling a dive, he extricated his legs from the stirrups and floated down until his feet sank into the snow. The gloom in the alcove proved no obstacle to his enchanted spectacles. Empty. Dismounting with a groan, he waited for Sirius to land so he could hand over his broomstick.

"Careful down there," Sirius said, raising his wand.

Harry waved him off. "There's nothing inside. I can see in the dark, remember?"

He descended cautiously. Just like the outer cliff face, the walls and the ceiling of the alcove were a dull grey, but the rock under his feet gleamed peculiarly and didn't provide much traction.

Finding a stable foothold, he unzipped his fly and exhaled in relief. They would find Cedric, no doubt about that. Perhaps he had crawled into a hole similar to this, or perhaps they had beaten him here and he would arrive any minute. Comforted by the thought, he started whistling.

The ground under his feet shifted, and he staggered, zipping up his trousers in a hurry. An earthquake? Widening his stance, he looked around, but everything was still again. Tittering nervously, he started for the slope. Earthquakes. You just didn't get those in a civilized country.

The moment he began climbing, the ground trembled again. Yelping, he skidded backward until he caught himself on the rock with his palms. It felt warm to the touch, and a terrifying suspicion that he was atop an active volcano crossed his mind.

"Harry!" Sirius yelled from above. "Get out before it wakes up!"

Employing his hands as much as his feet, he clambered up the slope. Sirius already sat astride his broom and was holding out the second one. Harry reached for it, but inches away, another tremor knocked him prone and sent him sliding back down.

He pushed himself up, rubbed his smarting nose, and froze. A dozen steps ahead, a rock ridge split open to reveal a Quaffle-sized eye. Its slit pupil flitted about before homing in on him.

"Dragon," he whispered.

"Just figured that out?" Sirius exclaimed, extending the broom by the tip. "Get on, quick!"

He leapt forward, grabbed onto the tail, and scrambled to mount as tons of scaly muscle rippled underneath him. A bass rumble resonated in his bones; the dragon was clearly not happy to wake up to a tiny bipedal relieving itself atop it.

Jamming one foot into the stirrup, Harry shot out of the alcove just as the dragon unfurled its wings with a deafening clap. Sirius shouted a warning, and glancing over his shoulder, Harry jinked aside from a dazzling torrent of flames.

The flames roared past, close enough to singe his face and leave red afterimages in his vision. His broomstick lurched and weaved side to side, and he saw the treetops approaching fast. He yanked the handle upward, but the broom only ascended several yards before careening down again.

He looked back. The dragon emerged from its lair, reared on its hind legs, and flapped its powerful wings, whipping up twisters of snow and dirt. Its malicious gaze locked onto Harry's broomstick; its tail was trailing black smoke.

"Crap!" He swiveled his head around. "Help! Help! My arse is on fire!"

Sirius's voice came from above. "Grab on!"

Tilting his head back, he saw Sirius bend at the waist and extend both hands. He reached up, but his broomstick dipped and skimmed the top of a tree. Tugging up the handle, he yanked his foot from the stirrup and planted it atop the shaft. "Get closer!"

Sirius steered his broom lower with one hand and stretched out the other. Trying not to look down, Harry rose into a wobbly crouch as though surfing on the broomstick and kicked off with all he had. His right hand clasped Sirius's broom, but his left slipped off; luckily, Sirius grabbed his wrist.

Harry's eyes widened as the dragon behind spread its jaws. "Up, up!"

Sirius obeyed not a second too soon. A torrent of flames roared underneath, swallowing Harry's drifting broomstick and setting the forest ablaze. Harry pulled his knees up to his chest until the flames dwindled leaving blackened stumps in their wake. Gasping with effort, he hooked one leg onto the shaft and hauled himself up.

Sirius stared back at him with wild eyes. "What were you thinking, taking a piss on a Ukrainian Ironbelly?"

"That's what it is?" he gasped, clutching Sirius's waist a little harder than was necessary. "Not my fault. The locals should think where they leave their animals."

"You'd expect to find dragons in a dragon reserve, no? It's called that for a reason!" Sirius kept glancing over his shoulder as they gained speed, but the dragon did not seem inclined to give chase.

"It's not like _you_ realized it was there. The thing looks like it's made of rock."

A faraway roar made them look back. A dozen of bulky brown figures had appeared on the ground beneath the lair and were pelting the Ironbelly with crimson jets of light.

"Speak of the devil, we've alerted the handlers too." Sirius's back was stiff and his breathing heavy. "Bloody hell. If you hadn't made the jump..."

"All's well that ends well," he said, eyeing the smoldering trees behind. "Now we know to search the caves—and if we don't find Cedric, we can lay low in one and wait for him to come here."

"I could use a breather. Too bad we can't nip down to their village for a cuppa... or something stronger."

Harry patted his shoulder. "Relax. Had I been in _real_ danger, Firo would've come and saved me. Probably."

Sirius laughed shakily. "After seeing her try to swallow a Sickle for an hour, I have some doubts." He drew a shuddering breath. "Right. We still have a stray Animagus to find."

Sirius flew over the mountain range surrounding the valley, leaving the dragon and the handlers pummeling it into submission behind. Cracks and crevices scarred the faces of the mountains, but few were large enough to accommodate Cedric's animal form. As Harry peered into a cranny after cranny, he began drumming his fingers against his thigh. They hadn't made a mistake coming here, surely?

Sirius, it seemed, was having similar doubts. "We just might have to suck it up and ask the handlers if they saw any new dragons. How's your Spanish?"

Harry pulled a face. "Let's keep looking."

The skies dimmed, and the mountains' shadow over the valley lengthened by the minute. Should night fall before they found Cedric, they would have to wait until morning to resume the search. Harry glanced back; they had so far covered two-thirds of the crescent-shaped mountain ridge.

He returned to watching the cliff to the left. They were flying above the slope and toward a saddle-shaped pass that connected the mountain below to its sibling. While harsh and craggy, the cliff didn't have any caves, and he was about to look away in disappointment when a glint of something metallic caught his eye.

"Wait." Holding on to Sirius, he leaned out to scrutinize a horizontal crevice perhaps a hundred yards up from the foot of the mountain. It was dark now, but he was certain the glint had come from there. "Get us over there."

"It's barely tall enough for _me_ to squeeze through," Sirius muttered, but did as asked.

Their first impression had been deceptive: as the crevice curved off into the mountain's shadow, it widened enough for them to fly through. It was just as well since its jagged edge did not offer much in the way of footing.

Harry protected his head with his arms as Sirius maneuvered them through the toothy entrance and into the cavern. The remnants of daylight barely filtered in through the rocks jutting along the cave mouth. Sensing Sirius slow uncertainly, Harry lifted his wand.

"Lumos."

Sirius swore and brought the broom to a halt. Peeking around his back, Harry saw why: a great golden dragon lay at the cavern's bottom, taller than him even in its curled-up pose, its diamond-shaped scales gleaming in the wand light. Its head thankfully remained hidden under an enormous wing.

"That's _him_." Harry laughed incredulously and hopped off the broom. "Holy shit. We actually found him!"

"Blimey." Sirius stared before dismounting himself. "Was he always this big?"

"Think so." The dragon's scales were a richer gold than he recalled, but that was easily explained by the difference in lighting. "He kept growing until he broke through the ceiling."

"I'd call that unusual, but so's a magical form." Transferring the broomstick to his left hand, Sirius produced his wand. "Quiet now, it wouldn't do to spook him. Look for a chink in his armor—it's the only chance the reversal spell will take hold."

They looked the slumbering dragon over. Not an inch of its vulnerable underbelly was exposed, but catching Sirius's eye, Harry pointed out a spot under its wing where the scales thinned out somewhat.

"Together," Sirius mouthed. "One, two... three!"

Twin jets of light splashed against the dragon's hide just inches apart. Harry held his breath when a quiver went through the beast's massive flank, but that was it.

"Bloody spell resistance," Sirius whispered. "Again—wait, let's get closer."

They crept up so close Harry could feel the dragon's immense body heat. Sirius raised his left hand and began ticking off fingers. Once he formed a fist, they cast again.

The dragon twitched and rumbled, and a wisp of smoke escaped from under the wing draped over its head. Its clawed hind leg scratched the spot the spells had impacted.

"Shit, hit him with all you have!" Sirius cried, leading by example.

Erratic flashes lit the cavern. The dragon stirred, uncoiling its neck and covering its flank with a wing. Desperate, Harry began to vocalize his incantations, but his spells only glanced off the golden scales.

The spines of the dragon's neck brushed the ceiling as it rose ponderously and blinked at its harassers. The reversal spells they immediately directed at its belly only made it shake its head and growl.

"Cedric!" Harry shouted. "I know you're in there! Get a grip on yourself!" He racked his brain for something that would get through to him. "Remember Cho? Think of how worried she must be!"

Cocking its head, the dragon scrutinized the wizards. Sirius ceased his spellcasting and appeared to be holding his breath.

The dragon puffed out a cloud of smoke, opened its fanged jaws, and roared.

Harry shielded his face with a sleeve from a spray of pungent saliva. Sirius had the presence of mind to send a reversal spell down its throat, but his cry of triumph was premature because the dragon merely snapped its jaws shut and swallowed. Its expression, if you could call it that, was almost surprised, which Harry took as a good sign.

"Cedric, we're friends!" He waved his arms over his head. "We want to help. You understand that, right?"

For a moment when the dragon was still, Harry dared to hope that Cedric's human mind was waking up—but then the beast pounced.

His wand whipped up. "Depulso!"

The Banishing Charm nailed the dragon in the jaw, propelling its head backward. It unfurled its wings and growled, shaking off the hit as if it were but a love tap.

Sirius backtracked. "Harry, listen, this isn't—"

"That's it," Harry snapped, meeting the dragon's enormous eyes. "That's bloody it, I'm waking you up one way or another. Legilimens!"

His awareness narrowed until all that remained were two malevolent yellowish orbs. His consciousness catapulted out of his body, and an amalgam of bewildering images and sensations assaulted him.

_Cold. Time for slumber still. Stiff limbs and hunger deep in her belly. Two-legged meats tickling her with bright lights. Heat surging in her throat. The two-legged never burned... but these smelled different, and their lights were weak. She would hunt them!_

Harry moaned as his consciousness snapped back into his skull like a rubber band. He swayed on his feet and might've collapsed were it not for Sirius supporting him.

A crazy giggle escaped his lips. "Not an Animagus."

"What are you doing?" Sirius yelled as he dragged him up the slope. "You don't Legilimize an animal, never mind a bloody dragon!"

He winced at the pain in his forehead. Even the scant light from outside was making his eyes water. "Had to know."

The dragon's massive footfalls sent tremors beneath their feet. Sirius's urging barely registered through Harry's pounding headache as he climbed perfunctorily toward the mouth of the cavern. Then there was a hiss of indrawn air, and Sirius tackled him to the ground.

Heat washed over them, and the world dissolved in glaring scarlet. The fall knocked the wind out of him, and the reflexive breath he took scorched his lungs. He pressed his face to the cool rock.

The incandescent flames dwindled as abruptly as they had come. Sucking in the stuffy air, he clambered onto the razor-thin ledge and turned to pull up Sirius. The rock was hot to the touch, and the paltry dusting of snow had evaporated without a trace. A dizzying drop loomed before them.

He stared at Sirius's empty hands. "The broom!"

Sirius swore and fumbled for his wand. Harry looked back into the cavern just in time to witness a flame spark between the dragon's jaws. Slinging his arm around Sirius's shoulders, he launched them off the ledge.

Wind whooshed in his ears. Sirius thrust out his wand and screamed an incantation. The unduly long broomstick cleared the cavern mouth before it erupted with scarlet flames that extended skyward for dozens of yards. Sirius reached for the plummeting broom, but the ground was coming up too fast.

"_Firo_!" Harry shouted, plucking the wand from Sirius's fingers. "Molliare! Arresto Mo—"

They smashed into the spongy ground, bounced off several feet, and fell to a bone-jarring stop, the wand in Harry's hand not skewering his neck by luck alone. He wheezed in a breath, pushed himself up, and rubbed his sore knee.

Sirius lay prone showing no signs of life, but when the falling broomstick conked his head, he sprang up. "Bloody hell!"

Harry snorted, then froze at the rattle of pebbles tumbling from above. The dragon had gripped the cavern's crumbling edge with its claws and stuck out its head.

"Hide," he hissed, crawling up to the cliff. Peering warily at the dragon above, he tried to make himself smaller. If only he hadn't lost his pointy hat during the fall; the grey would've helped him blend in.

Sirius scurried up to him and pressed his back against the cliff. Harry silently handed over the wand he had appropriated. Hardly breathing, they watched the dragon's forked tongue dart out several times as it tasted the air.

"Doesn't look like it wants to leave," Sirius whispered.

Harry nodded. "It felt grumpy about being woken up too early. With any luck, it'll just go back to sleep."

A fireball exploded before them, leaving behind a gold-and-scarlet phoenix. Firo sang happily and glided down to perch on Harry's knee. He gaped at her, then tilted his head back. The dragon bent its neck lower to survey the foot of the mountain.

He sent Firo a beseeching look. "_Shh_."

"Squawk?"

The dragon rumbled, and more pebbles rained down. Firo looked up and fluttered her wings, and he barely caught her before she could take off. Wincing as her wings slapped his face, he yanked open his robes and wrapped her, squirming and squawking, within the thick fabric. Only then did he dare to look up.

The dragon swung its head around and snorted out a plume of smoke, then slowly retracted into the cavern like a turtle into its shell.

The men sagged with relief. Harry unwrapped Firo, who popped out with bedraggled feathers and cawed unhappily.

"Sorry, you were too loud..." He trailed off as he eyed a strip of a red pepper stuck to her beak. Peeling it off, he dangled it in the air. "Were you late because you were having a _snack_?"

Upon spying the morsel, Firo trilled and hopped up his chest. Harry yanked it away before she could seize it. "We could've _died_, you useless—ow!" He rubbed his sore finger and glared as Firo gobbled the pepper up.

"Oh, let her be. I'm sure she came as soon as she could." Sirius leaned over to stroke her under the beak. "Who's a good birdie?"

Harry scowled. "This wouldn't happen if you didn't spoil her silly while I'm trying to train her."

"You are!" Sirius said, paying him no heed. Firo cooed and relocated to his knee to enjoy the petting. "Don't mind your master's grumbling, he's just jealous you like me more."

He rolled his eyes. "Only because you bribe her with treats."

Bracing against the rock, he stood and stretched. The sky over the peak to the west was already purple; come sunset, the search for Cedric would become even more difficult.

Unearthing his wand, he summoned his hat, brushed it off, and donned it. It was just as he turned to consult with Sirius regarding their next move that a series of cracks resounded around them, making him flinch.

"Oh, what now!" he exclaimed, throwing up his arms.

Where before there was only stony ground, now stood six witches and wizards. Thick hide armor marred by scorches and nicks covered them head to toe save for their surly and tense faces. In retrospect, Harry's sudden motion probably hadn't helped soothe their nerves.

"¿_Quién eres tú_?" demanded a mustachioed wizard in the middle. "¿_Por qué molestas a los dragones_?"

"Uh..." Harry presented his empty palms and looked at his godfather for cues.

Sirius shooed Firo off and rose to his feet. "Do any of you fine folk speak English?"

"¿_Cazadores furtivos del extranjero_?" said a witch to the mustachioed man Harry assumed was the boss.

"_Lo descubriremos_," said the man. "¡_Deja caer tus varitas y arrodíllate_!"

Sirius spread his hands. "Er... no halberd spaniel?"

The man stepped closer and brandished a stumpy wand. "¡_Varitas al suelo_! ¡_Esta es tu última advertencia_!" At his sudden motion, a visor with black lenses swung over his face, and he irritably pushed it back up.

"Let me try." Harry took a deep breath. "Señor, we're searchino for our amigo. Por favor, no attackerino." He schooled his face into a smile; that sounded about right.

Several dragonologists exchanged befuddled glances. Their boss's bushy mustache quivered in a manner reminiscent of Uncle Vernon's. "¡_Deja de burlarte de nosotros_!" he bellowed, jabbing his wand.

Harry parried an unfamiliar hex, and without thinking, retaliated with a Stunning Charm. His eyes widened when it splashed against the thick armor to no effect.

The boss laughed and yelled to his subordinates, who took aim as one.

"Protego!" Sirius cried, defending them both.

Squinting against the flares of spell impacts, Harry stuffed his wand down his pocket; if he used spells powerful enough to penetrate the armor, he risked injuring the stupid sods. Instead, he unhooked the Warlock's Rod from his belt, and pressing the button on its butt, swept it in an arc.

The boss's luxurious mustache was shorn off, leaving him clutching at his mouth, while a witch at his side blinked and sputtered as her eyebrows and lashes fell down her face.

Harry whirled to Firo, who had stuck her head out from between Sirius's legs to watch the light show. "Get us out of here, girl!"

She hopped closer and cocked her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wandtips of the Spaniards light up. Recalling how Fawkes had carried him and Dumbledore out of the Chamber of Secrets, he dived and grabbed onto her tail.

Firo screeched and rocketed skyward, and he barely managed to grab Sirius's forearm to yank him along. A wonderful lightness suffused his limbs, and even Sirius's weight felt like that of a human-shaped balloon.

Half a dozen hexes zoomed through the space they just vacated, but the onslaught petered out as the dragonologists gaped at Firo. "_Un fénix_," one exclaimed.

"Fuck you, _putas_!" Harry yelled. "Gibraltar is ours!"

Dangling from Harry's grip, Sirius summoned the broomstick and caught it awkwardly with his free arm. He kept his wand trained downward, but it proved unnecessary: the handlers did little but stare (or mourn their facial hair) as Firo rose higher and higher.

Sirius looked up. "Nice save!"

"All thanks to Firo," Harry said humbly.

"That's who I was talking to!"

Harry rolled his eyes. A gust of frigid wind buffeted them, and he tightened his hold on the warm feathers. Firo swiveled her head at him and squawked, still hauling them into the darkening sky.

"Sorry about this!" he yelled against the wind. "Find a nice place to set us down, will you?"

The beating of her wings slowed and their jerky flight evened out. They were almost level with the nearest mountain peak that glared red in the setting sun. Harry's breath was coming out in puffs, and his fingers were getting numb. He hoped Firo had understood him because he didn't fancy performing aerial acrobatics to mount the broomstick from their current position.

A blaring noise reached his ears on the wind, and he made out a V-shaped array of dots against the darkening sky. He wasn't the only one who did, because Firo swerved abruptly to intercept them.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "No. No, bad bird!"

The dots resolved into grey geese, their wings beating rhythmically and their orange bills parting occasionally in a raucous honk. Firo cawed several times as she neared them, sounding more and more like a goose with each attempt.

Despite himself, Harry laughed. "She's trying to make some friends! Better prepare the broom!"

"Hold on!" Sirius struggled to maneuver his feet into the stirrups as Firo swung them around.

At first, the geese seemed content to ignore their strange company, but as Firo brought them ever closer, they began craning their necks and voicing their alarm. All at once, the wedge broke up, and with shrill honks and hisses, they swooped at the intruders.

"Hurry!" Harry tucked his neck into his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut against the battering wings and snapping bills. One pinched his shin so hard it made him whimper. He kicked blindly, and his heel connected with what he hoped was one of those feathery buggers.

Sirius yowled. "Watch it!"

Firo zigzagged violently. Harry was getting dizzy, but he kept his eyes shut lest he lose them to an angry goose. At last, Sirius cried triumphantly, and Harry was wrenched in opposite directions.

His eyes flew open. The exhausted fingers of his left hand were about to slip off the furiously flapping Firo's tail. On the opposite side, Sirius sat astride the broom, the arm Harry had a death grip on bent awkwardly behind his back.

"Let her go!" Sirius yanked the broom closer to take some pressure off their overstretched arms.

Harry couldn't have held on much longer even if he wanted to. He unclenched Firo's tail; she shot off with a squawk, while he and Sirius plunged as their bodies regained their weight. The difference was, Sirius leveled out shortly whereas Harry continued falling.

"Shit!" Sirius winced and lurched sideways as Harry's weight tore at his arm.

"I got this," Harry gasped. Kicking up his legs, he hooked his ankle onto the broomstick and clambered on. The protective bubble muted the racket of the birds, and the frigid wind no longer lashed his face.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder. "Blimey, those buggers are almost worse than a dragon. You alright?"

"Peachy." He blew on his hands for warmth. "Bloody birdbrain. Sometimes I find it hard to believe she and Fawkes are of the same species."

"Give her a few decades," Sirius said, turning away. "What's she doing now?"

Firo honked loudly as she flitted around the scattered geese, shepherding them into a group. Any goose foolish enough to raise its bill against her was met with a swift and merciless response. Cowed, the geese gradually formed up into a wedge and set off northwest. Among their grey plumages, gold-and-scarlet feathers glittered in the last rays of the day.

"I reckon she'll need a few centuries," Harry murmured. When the honking faded in the distance, a buzzing noise intruded on his awareness. He strained his ears.

Sirius turned the broom and peered at the mountains below. "Night's approaching fast. We might as well camp out somewhere until morning."

"Shh. Do you hear that?"

Sirius glanced at him. "Hear what?"

"It's like a voice..." Slapping his forehead, he unbuttoned the top of his robes and stuck his hand into his inner pocket. "Brandon!"

Brandon's oily physiognomy appeared ghastly under the bluish light from the computer screen. "Harry. Harry—_finally_! Man, what gives? I've been calling you for half an hour."

He opened and closed his mouth several times. "Got into a fight with some hostiles." He frowned. "It's sort of your fault. Spain? Bad intel, mate."

Brandon folded his arms. "Hey, you're the one who told me to report fires. If you don't need my help anymore, just say it."

"No, no, sorry." He sighed. "I'm just tired."

Brandon glanced away and snorted. "It's barely seven. You _are_ a normie."

He scowled at the mirror. "Do you have anything for us or not?"

"Trust me, you're going to love this." Brandon clacked on the keyboard. "Some campers uploaded a photo of a dragon drinking from a pond. It's a bit dark, but the thing looks just like the one from the video." He eyed Harry uncertainly. "Was it, you know, for real? Screwing a van and all?"

"It was," he said, waving him on. "More importantly, where was the photo taken?"

"The uploader never said, but..." Brandon took a slurp from a can and burped. "I dug around and it turns out he didn't clear the EXIF data, can you believe that? It had the GPS coordinates down to the second."

"Brandon—"

A pudgy finger appeared in the mirror. "Shadowlord."

He sucked in air through his teeth. "Shadowlord. _Where_?"

Brandon's gaze flicked to the side. "Some backwoods place in Croatia called Plitvička. Looks like a bunch of lakes and a big-ass forest, nothing interesting."

"Croatia." Harry furrowed his brows. "Where the hell is that?"

"Well, it's near Slovenia and Hungary and—"

"It's fine," he said, raising a palm. "How are you holding up? Can you keep searching for a while longer?"

"I won't lie, it's a struggle—but I've trained myself for this." Brandon picked up the can again and drained it. "If need be, I'll sacrifice sleep until I track that cryptid down."

"Good man. Call me if you find anything else." He pocketed the mirror, cutting off Brandon's 'Shadowlord out'.

Sirius turned at the waist. "I didn't understand a thing about what he did, but it sounded impressive." The map splayed atop his palm was already centered on the aforementioned backwoods.

"Told you he was good." Harry contemplated the map. "Can you zoom out and mark the spot he was seen at in France?"

Sirius tapped the map with his wand.

"That's halfway across the continent," Harry murmured. What drove Cedric to fly so far? He laid his wand atop the map so that it connected the locations of the sightings in France and Croatia. Its tip extended further over Bosnia, Serbia, and Bulgaria, just skimming the bottom border of... "Romania. Isn't that the place with—"

"The largest dragon reservation in the world!" Sirius rapped the map, and a large tract of land incorporating forests, mountains, and rivers was outlined, not very far north from a place inexplicably named Cărpeniș.

"That's quite a ways to go. I hope they treat Cedric nicely if he ends up there."

"They say the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary takes in strays from all around the world. As long as no ICW prick barges in demanding his hide, it should be the safest place for him to be." Sirius rolled up the map. "Strap in. By my estimation, we should get there shortly past midnight—British time, that is."

Harry slung his arm around Sirius's waist as they pivoted, leaving the fading glow of the sunset behind. "I thought we'd be flying all night, single broomstick and all."

"Let's find out, shall we?"

They picked up speed, and the dark mountains and valleys below were shortly replaced by myriads of city lights twinkling in the wintery evening. These grew dimmer as they gained altitude, whereas the stars above them shone brighter.

Harry heard a distant roar and scanned the navy-blue sky until he spied the strobing red lights of a plane behind and above. It drew steadily closer until he could make out the tiny round windows along its chunky fuselage.

He tapped Sirius on the shoulder and pointed up. Sirius snorted and leaned forward. The broomstick accelerated until it began vibrating, and the roaring contraption fell behind.

Harry made a rude gesture at the plane. "Ha! Eat our dust!"

Sirius chuckled. "The broom's hardly any slower with two people aboard. Shouldn't take us more than four hours unless we have to fly upwind."

Harry hummed thoughtfully as he recalled the countries on the way. "Best not cross over Slovakia. I am, after all, a wanted man there." He wasn't able to keep the pride out of his voice.

"You mean their Aurors would like to ask you some polite questions," Sirius said in an exasperated tone. "I doubt they'd so much as detain you, and even if they did, our Ministry would raise a stink and you'd be out in an hour."

"Bah, I'm not placing myself into the hands of third-world law enforcement if I can help it."

"Third-world?"

"A Muggle term. It basically means 'not British'," Harry said knowingly.

"Huh." Sirius was silent for a time. "It wouldn't be much of a lark if we became wanted men back home, though. I keep thinking... Breeding a dragon only incurs a fine, but we might not get off that easy for resisting Hitwizards."

He sobered a little. "Su will come through for us, she always does. If worst comes to worst, we can hole up at my place. It's not on the Floo registry yet, so the Ministry won't know to look for us there." It might be a little cramped, what with the scaffolding and the Eastern European builders he hired bustling about, but it would do in a pinch.

"I still think you're barmy to want to live in a water tower," Sirius said, shaking his head.

"I keep telling you, that's just what the Muggles will see! It's a proper wizard's tower. Any self-respecting sorcerer ought to live in one if you ask me."

"Are you sure you're not compensating for something?" Sirius laughed when Harry walloped him in the back. "Hey, if you want to live atop a giant phallus, I'm not going to judge."

"Have you been talking to Tony? You guys are such pricks about this." He sighed. "At least Su seems to like the idea."

"Speaking of, I haven't seen her around. She get tired of you yet?"

"No," he said indignantly. "She's been neck-deep in some freaky research."

"So how are things between you two?"

"Eh, you know. Not bad."

"Just not bad? Come on, give me more than that."

"Well... this might sound a little sappy, but..." Harry gathered his thoughts. "You ever lock eyes with a woman and realize that nothing else in the universe matters but her? That she shines brighter than any star in the sky, that for her you'd take on the world? That nothing would make you happier than to stay at her side until you grow old together?"

Sirius contorted around to goggle at him. "_No_?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, me neither."

Sirius let out an explosive breath. "Phew, don't scare me! I thought I lost you like I'd lost James. He spoke that way about Lily before getting married."

"It's not like that," he said, chuckling. "Though I do like her a lot. She's so... chill, you know? Any other girl I'd hesitate to show my room to, but I don't need to pretend to be someone else with Su. She understands, and if not, she doesn't judge."

"Uh oh," Sirius muttered.

"What?"

"Baring your soul to a woman is asking for trouble. One day, when you least expect it, she'll fly off the handle about some trifle and use everything she learned as ammunition against you. Trust me, I've been there."

Harry frowned. "Su's not like your veela cheerleader! I'm telling you, she's cool."

Sirius shrugged without facing him. "I don't want you to get your heart crushed, is all."

"Your concern is touching," he said acidly, "but I'll be fine."

"Just don't get too invested," Sirius said, and went quiet.

Harry glared at his back until he was overtaken by a yawn. While he wasn't all that sleepy, not being in control of the broom didn't leave him with much to do. Sighing, he cast his gaze about.

It was well and truly dark now, and the sky was spangled with more stars than he ever saw in the smoggy London sky. Down below, clusters of light interspersed the dark landscape up to the horizon, the streets of the nearby settlements flowing like rivers of light.

An impressive sight, but he would have traded it for a warm cup of tea.

He yawned again. Having attained its top speed, the broom sailed smoothly onward, and the wind outside settled into a droning buzz. He wriggled backward to rest against the luggage baskets and closed his eyes.


	19. How to Track Your Dragon, Part 5

Waking with a start, Harry raised his head and adjusted his glasses. Snow was falling around them so thickly it was difficult to ascertain the altitude. Despite the lack of wind, his limbs were stiff from the cold.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, straightening up.

"Ah, the sleeping beauty is awake." Sirius sounded tired. "Welcome to Romania."

"We're here?" Peering down through the drifting white flakes, he glimpsed some vague shapes of trees. The ground was close, and the broomstick was barely cruising along.

Parchment rustled. "Unless your map decided to crap out on us, we're smack in the middle of the Dragon Sanctuary."

"Looks like we made good time."

Sirius snorted. "You'd think that, having slept through everything. I had to battle headwinds over the Adriatic Sea, and that lost us at least half an hour."

"Sorry." He yawned. "Didn't plan on sleeping."

Sirius waved over his shoulder. "It's fine, but you're flying us back."

"Gotta find Cedric first." He licked his gummy lips as he considered the snowfall. "Which might be a tad difficult in this weather."

"We'll have to risk making some light, even if it's to find shelter." Sirius took one hand off the broom and raised his wand like a torch. "Ready? Lumos Maxima."

Harry ducked his head and narrowed his eyes until they adjusted to the glaring light. The coniferous forest below groaned under a thick layer of snow. A narrow stream weaved through the trees, widening into a frozen pond farther ahead. Through the glimmering snowflakes, he made out some man-made structures beyond the woods. He tapped Sirius on the shoulder and pointed.

Without a word, Sirius angled the broom. The forest began thinning out, and his radiant wand light illuminated a handful of steep-roofed cottages arranged in a circle. Their narrow windows, set deep into the thick stone walls, were all dark.

"This must be where the dragonologists live," Sirius said, lowering the light. "The question is, do we make ourselves known or try to stay out of sight? I know someone here who might help."

"You do?"

Sirius nodded. "Charlie Weasley—I've met him a couple times. If nothing's changed, he should be working here."

"Man, the Weasleys really are everywhere, aren't they?" Harry pursed his lips. While he feared a repeat of the fiasco with the Spaniards, he didn't fancy searching the entire reservation without assistance either.

Warm light blazed in the windows of a cottage ahead before the door banged open to release a short, dark-haired man with an unbuttoned fur coat thrown over his pyjamas. He pointed his wand in their direction and yelled something.

Sirius swore and extinguished his wand, plunging them into darkness. A much dimmer light came from the wand of the stranger below. Shielding it with his palm, the man peered upward and called out again; his tone didn't feel hostile but was certainly distressed.

Glancing back at Harry, Sirius whispered, "What do you reckon?"

Harry shrugged. As far as first impressions went, this was far from the worst.

"Let's see what the fellow has to say, then," Sirius said, directing the broom down. "I'm too tired to go on flying anyway."

Harry's feet sank into fresh snow as they touched down amid the cottages. The stranger's eyes widened, and he marched toward them, cradling his lit wand.

Sirius groaned as he extricated his legs from the stirrups. Harry planted his hands on his knees and tried to rise, only to lose his balance and keel over backward.

"What the fuck!" he exclaimed, flailing in the snow. No matter how hard he struggled, his arse remained stuck fast to the luggage baskets of the Zibens.

Sirius guffawed. "I forgot I put a Sticking Charm on you so you wouldn't fall off. Finite."

He pushed up and spat out snow. "Gee, thanks. A warning would've been nice."

"_Liniște, liniște_!" the stranger hissed. "_Nu știți că lumina și zgomotul noaptea provoacă dragoni_?" He snuffed out his wand, leaving only the ajar doorway of his cottage to spill dim light onto the snow.

Sirius turned to him, grinning. "Evening, there. Any chance you speak English?"

The man spread his hands helplessly. "English, no. _Cine ești tu_? _De ce esti aici_?"

"In that case, I apologize for interrupting your beauty sleep, since you clearly need it," Sirius continued. "Is Charlie Weasley around?" He enunciated, "Charles. Weasley."

The stranger's expression cleared a little, and he pocketed his wand. "_Charlie se va întoarce mâine_." He frowned. "Tomorrow."

Harry shuffled closer, brushing snow off his bottom. "This is kind of urgent... Can't you wake him up?"

The stranger ran his eyes over him without any sign of recognition, which more than anything made him feel like he was abroad. "Charlie." He pointed at a dark mountain looming in the distance. "Tomorrow."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "A hike? In this weather?"

"You don't know Charlie," Sirius said. "The bloke could survive in Antarctica with nothing but his wand."

The stranger shushed them and ushered them to a cottage next to his own. Nudging open the door, he gestured them inside. It was a spartan one-room affair with a couple of beds, a wood stove, and a small door leading to what might've been the bathroom.

"Sleep," the stranger said, illustrating the word with a wide yawn. Before either of them could reply, he stepped outside and shut the door. Harry heard no click of a lock, which he took as a good sign.

Left in what had to be impenetrable darkness to his optically inferior self, Sirius conjured a light and looked around. Upon spying a linenless bed, he traipsed straight to it, tossed his snowy cloak over the headboard, and collapsed face-first without bothering to undress.

"Shouldn't we be trying to find Cedric as soon as possible?" Harry asked.

Sirius's voice came out muffled by the pillow. "That bloke had the right idea. I'm knackered, and we won't see anything at night either."

"Well... if you're sure."

Harry lit the stove with the Fire-Making Spell, checked the small door (which did lead to a bathroom), and ransacked the kitchenette cabinets for anything edible. He brightened up upon discovering a tin of biscuits and a tea caddy.

"Want any?" he asked, holding up the tin.

A snore was his only response. Shaking his head, he boiled some water, poured it over the tea leaves, and munched on the slightly stale biscuits while he waited for it to steep. He polished off half the tin before dunking the remaining biscuits into the tea between contented sips.

Out in the cold, he had felt wide awake, but between the crackling fire and the food warming his stomach, he began nodding off. He drained his cup, draped his damp robes and hat atop a worn chair, and rummaged for the mirror. Clutching it in hand, he laid down on the bare mattress of the spare bed.

"Shadowlord," he said.

The mirror brightened, and loud music with high-pitched vocals blared for several seconds before Brandon's pudgy face came into sight. "Harry! Um, I was just taking a break—there's been nothing new for a while—"

He yawned. "It's alright, we're done for today. You can go to bed now."

Brandon blinked. "I don't normally sleep for a few more hours yet."

"But you called it a sacrifice—" He groaned. "Never mind. Just be ready if we call you tomorrow morning."

Brandon's mouth opened in protest, but Harry flipped the mirror and laid it down. He reclined on the bed and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the mattress.

* * *

An incessant knocking jolted Harry awake. He was still shaking off the vestiges of an uneasy dream when the door creaked open letting in a gust of freezing wind and dazzling sunlight. Groaning, he draped his arm over his eyes.

There was a low chuckle, and an insufferably chipper voice said, "I'd wish you good morning, but it's closer to noon. Not that I'm opposed to you having a lie-in, but Vasile said you sounded urgent last night."

Harry sprang to a seated position; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sirius stir as well. A brawny man with short-cropped ginger hair stood inside the threshold, an easy smile on his face and a steaming pot in his calloused hands. Closing the door with his foot, he tramped toward the table and set his burden down.

Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The newcomer was half a head shorter than him, but more than made up for it in width.

"You must be Charlie Weasley." Suppressing a yawn, he stuck out his hand. "Harry Potter, nice to meetcha."

Charlie shook the proffered hand. "Right in one." His blue eyes flicked to Harry's chest, and the genial smile froze on his face, his grip tightening painfully. "And I know who you are, of course."

"Er... okay." Harry wrenched his hand from Charlie's vice grip and flexed his fingers with a wince. Glancing down, he saw his Horntail pendant gleaming proudly atop his chest and sheepishly stuffed it under his shirt.

Sirius came up and greeted the man warmly. "Charlie, long time no see! How's Romania treating you?"

"Same old, same old. Nothing like fresh air and untouched nature—precious little of that left in Britain."

"And furious multi-ton beasts made of claws and fire, no doubt." Sirius nudged his chin at a glistening burn across Charlie's freckled cheek.

Chuckling, Charlie reached up but stopped short of touching the burn. "That too. This is why you didn't find me yesterday—I was out in the mountains observing a young Longhorn. A trafficker kept her in a cage since she hatched, and the poor girl has to learn to fend for herself out in the wild."

"Well, I'm glad you're here now, because we could really use your help." Sirius swiveled his head and sniffed. "Maybe we could discuss it over tea like civilized men? I'm starving."

Charlie gestured at the table. "I brought some breakfast... or should I say, lunch? Tuck in."

Sirius's eyes lit up and he pulled himself a chair. Harry ducked into the bathroom to wash up. When he came back, the kettle was whistling on the stove and a plateful of yellow porridge awaited him at the table.

He poked it skeptically with a chipped spoon, but after taking an experimental bite, his stomach demanded more, and he scarfed it down hardly noticing the taste. Sirius not only polished off his plate but even scraped the remains from the pot. While they ate, Charlie busied himself preparing tea.

"Ta, Charlie, you're a lifesaver," Sirius said, accepting a cup.

"It's simple fare, but it keeps you going," Charlie said. "So, what brings you gents to our neck of woods?"

Sirius hesitated for a moment. "It's a long story, but we're looking for a dragon."

"Well, you came to the right place. It's not the best season for dragon watching, but I'm sure we can arrange a tour." Charlie shot Harry a glance. "Looking is all you get to do, mind. We're not in the business of selling live animals, and sales of materials to foreign faces are strictly regulated."

Sirius raised his palms. "No, it's not anything like that. We're looking for a very specific dragon."

"A stray, if you will," Harry added.

Charlie's brow knitted. "We do get those from time to time. A Muggleborn on our team swears it's something called ferrymones that attract them. What does this stray look like? Its breed, approximate age?"

Sirius exchanged a glance with Harry. "Er... It's large. One and a half storey high when it stands on its haunches, give or take. Gold, a bit greenish color."

"Chartreuse," Harry said eruditely.

Sirius frowned. "Bit early to be drinking, no?"

"You just described every adult Meadowstalker on the reserve. As luck would have it, though, I have a fair idea of what you're on about." Charlie fixed them with a steely stare. "Did you breed him? I can't imagine where you managed to hide him until maturity. At least he seems healthy... almost too healthy, truth be told."

Harry leaned over the table. "What do you mean?"

Charlie held eye contact with him for a few seconds before speaking. "One lively fellow matching your description flew in last night. We're not sure when, exactly, but he's been busy since the crack of dawn. First, he challenged the alpha male reigning over a nearby valley and wrestled him into submission—"

Harry whooped. "Go Cedric!"

"Cedric? So you _did_ raise him." Charlie sighed and rubbed his temples. "I'll postpone the lecture about the folly of unsanctioned dragon breeding until I hear the full story. Anyway, after establishing himself as the new alpha, your runaway proceeded to mount every fertile female he encountered in the vicinity—"

Harry and Sirius burst out laughing.

Charlie tried to get a word in before throwing up his arms in exasperation. "Who would've thought: like all animals, dragons procreate! What are you, schoolboys?"

Harry only laughed harder, while Sirius wiped a tear and choked out, "You'll understand. Can we see him?"

Charlie considered him. "If we are to do this, you stay at my side, quietly, and do exactly as I say. He's dozing off now, so it should be safe to approach, but you just never know with dragons."

Sirius nodded somberly, and Charlie turned to the still-snickering Harry.

"I'll be quiet," he promised, trying to school his expression.

"You do that." Charlie drained the remains of his tea and smacked his lips. "Let's get going, then. It's a bit of a walk, and we want to get there before he wakes up for another round."

Harry pressed a fist to his mouth to smother another bout of laughter and rose from the table. After dressing in his outerwear, he waited by the door with Charlie in uncomfortable silence while Sirius took a trip to the bathroom and donned his fur-trimmed cloak. At last, they trooped out into the crisp and clear air. Everything in sight was covered under pristine white snow.

Charlie took them across the tiny settlement, exchanging a few words with a colleague who peered curiously at the visitors. The snow between the cottages was packed, but farther out, their feet began sinking several inches with every step. Fresh paths were trodden into the forest and to the pond, but none toward the mountain that Charlie appeared to be heading to.

Harry coughed. "Um, we have a perfectly nice broom. It would be a bit of a tight fit, but..."

Charlie laughed. "Fancy playing chase with dragons? Flying objects larger than a bird tend to trigger their territorial instincts."

He sent him a pointed look. "Disillusionment Charms?"

"Many species see right through those. Most can sense heat and air currents, and the Antipodean Opaleyes are said to be able to detect magic itself. We don't have any of those, of course—winters here get too cold."

Harry glanced glumly at the cottages and fell back so they were walking in a single file. Despite breaking the trail, Charlie set a brisk pace, so when Sirius started regaling him with the tale of the stray Animagus, Harry was perfectly happy to save his breath. Charlie appeared more receptive to his godfather than him, anyway.

"You're yanking my wand, right?" Charlie said, pausing to stare at Sirius.

Well, maybe not _that_ receptive.

Sirius spread his hands. "Would I fly a thousand and a half miles and come up with a lie this elaborate just to mess with you?"

"Yes," Harry and Charlie said in unison, then glanced awkwardly at each other.

Sirius grinned. "Touché. This time, though, it's the unvarnished truth. Trust me, I was shocked to see Diggory become a magical creature, but we'll have time to ponder the mystery later. Gotta save the bloke first, from himself if not the executioners."

Charlie _hmm_ed. "And this potion of yours, it really helps you discover your form in one go? I heard rumors of most Uagadou graduates being Animagi, but I never took those seriously..."

Sirius jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Living proof right here, mate." A second later, a large shaggy dog stood in his place. He barked loudly and bounded off across the field kicking up snow.

Charlie trailed him with his gaze and set off again. For a while, there was only the sound of their crunching footsteps and Sirius's bass woofs.

Charlie broke the silence. "Everyone in the Order knew he was an Animagus, but this is the first I hear of a potion. Is it true, Potter?"

"Yep." He gestured at the dog, who was now rolling in a snowdrift with his tongue lolling out. "Does he look smart or patient enough for the traditional route?"

Charlie chuckled. "Fair point. Ever take it yourself?"

"Er... yeah, but..." He scowled. "I didn't have a form. It's worked on everyone else who took it, though."

"Huh. Must've been quite a disappointment." Charlie glanced over his shoulder. "Reckon Sirius would let me have a go? It always seemed like too much of a hassle, but..." He looked skyward wistfully, then shook his head. "Doesn't mean I really believe you two, mind."

"I'm sure he will. And we're not asking you to hand over one of your dragons or anything. Just let us cast the reversal spell on him, that's all."

"Well... It shouldn't hurt an animal." Charlie sighed. "Fine, I'll humor you, if only to see what happens for myself. You won't cast anything else on him, though, you hear me?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but when Charlie glanced at him again, he quickly nodded. "Sure."

"I'll hold you to that."

Eyeing Charlie's broad back, Harry fingered the slight lump of the dragonscale pendant under his robes. Had Charlie been the one to care for the Horntail? He wanted to clear the air but wasn't sure it was wise to bring that up.

The mountain drew closer, its crags swathed in glittering snow. While Harry's nose and cheeks were freezing, the exercise made him sweat under his robes, so he was glad when Charlie skirted the slope rather than climbing it. Beyond the mountain nestled a valley with sparse groves of leafless trees scattered throughout.

Charlie led them down the valley's ridged slope. Sirius loped tirelessly alongside them, apparently intent on staying a dog for the remainder of the trip. Suddenly, he raced off toward a deep furrow in the ground, barely sprinkled with snow, pressed his nose to it, and whined.

His curiosity roused, Harry took a few sidesteps into untouched snow and peered at the cliffs surrounding the valley. Among the dazzling white there was a glint of gold in the shadow of an overhanging crag.

"Still zonked out," Charlie said, shading his eyes. "We're in luck. Let's hurry."

Spying Cedric—hopefully, the real one—gave Harry a second wind, and he matched Charlie's vigorous strides without complaint. Sirius trotted at their heels with his ears pressed back and his big wet nose sniffing the air. At times, they had to step over imprints of massive claws, and there were copses of scorched trees deeper into the valley, the snow around them melted into mud.

Cedric slowed the closer he came to the shadowy alcove until he halted altogether. "Wait here till I call you. If he so much as blinks, Apparate back to camp immediately."

Harry nodded and rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Next to him, the shaggy black dog changed into a marginally less shaggy human. They watched in tense silence as Charlie sneaked toward Cedric's impromptu lair. The sun didn't shine directly into the alcove, but it was bright enough to make out the yellow-scaled dragon slumbering inside.

Charlie tiptoed the last few steps to the edge and peered inside before turning around and waving.

They gingerly made their way over. Wincing at the crunching of snow under his boots, Harry crept up to the alcove's mouth and was struck, once again, by how large the dragon was: even lying sideways with its tail coiled around itself, it towered over him.

"So unfair," he murmured, eyeing its vicious claws and impervious scales. The chartreuse stood out among the grey rock, but in summer, it would be indistinguishable from the greening meadows. "Let's turn him back already so I can make fun of him."

Sirius retrieved his wand. "Don't hold back—we won't get more than two or three tries." He looked at Charlie. "Help us out."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "I never learned the spell."

Sirius waved him closer. "No time like the present. Don't worry, it's so simple a firstie could do it."

Harry half-listened to Sirius's undertone lecture as he observed the beast. It was breathing evenly, but from the occasional puff of smoke that left its nostrils, he surmised its sleep wasn't very deep.

"That'll do," Sirius said not five minutes later. "Aim for its belly, or..." He eyed the dragon, whose coiled position did not expose any vulnerable spots.

"Try the underside of his throat," Charlie said, pointing. "The scales tend to be thinner there. Not an easy target to hit on a rampaging dragon, but him being asleep makes this easier."

Harry contemplated the small patch of the dragon's neck where greenish skin was exposed between underdeveloped scales. "Not sure I can hit that from here."

Sirius exchanged a long look with Charlie, who sighed resignedly and said, "Get closer if you must, but be careful."

Stepping into the alcove, Harry yelped as he slipped on the icy rock and skidded down several feet before regaining his balance. Scree rattled down the slope to bounce off the dragon's hindquarters. Behind, Sirius mumbled an expletive while Charlie shushed him frantically.

The dragon rumbled but didn't wake. Harry sent the others a sheepish grin and inched closer to get a better line of fire, which unfortunately brought him within range of the front claws. He wiped his sweaty palms on his robes and took aim. Just in case, he visualized the cottage they had spent the night in so he could Apparate at a moment's notice.

Sirius clambered down to join him. "Charlie will distract him long enough for us to get away if things go pear-shaped," he whispered. "Ready? Fingers crossed this works... Hit him on three."

The dragon sniffled, and a convulsion rippled up its neck to erupt in a thunderous sneeze. Soot filled the air, and scales scraped against scales as the beast uncoiled.

"Three!" Harry cried, flinging a reversal spell at the neck but instead clipping an unfurling wing.

A second jet of light splashed against the scaly back, and a third hit the underbelly. The dragon's slit pupils widened as though in surprise, and for one heart-stopping moment, Harry thought they had misidentified it again—

Then it disappeared.

It took him a moment to notice the figure curled up on the ground, since compared to the beast, it was positively minuscule. Cedric was trembling and his skin under his tattered clothes was pale and clammy.

"Where..." Cedric squinted groggily at Harry and Sirius. "Oh god, no. Please, _please_ tell me this was all a hallucination from that blasted brew."

A rattle of pebbles heralded Charlie's descent. "First of all, bloody hell! Second, you _have_ to get me some of that potion." He raked his fingers through his short hair as he regarded Cedric. "Diggory, was it? How did it feel, soaring through the sky on your own power, wrestling dragons like their equal? Did you breathe fire? What was it like, seeing through their eyes?" Crouching down next to him, he appeared to hold his breath.

Cedric scooted back warily. "I only remember flashes of it... The hunger, the rage, the... So overwhelming I could never hope to control it." He buried his face in his palms. "It was no hallucination, was it?"

Harry resisted the urge to grin. "Mate, I might be the world's youngest Dragonslayer, but you earned an even more distinguished title: the world's one and only Dragonfu—"

"Don't rub it in," Sirius said, elbowing his ribs. "It's enough of a shock as it is." He looked like he was trying hard not to laugh himself.

Not looking up, Cedric shivered and sobbed. "Cho's going to kill me."

"I'm sure she'll understand," Harry said sympathetically. "Shagging a dragon is so out there it can't possibly count as cheating."

Cedric wailed, "And then the Ministry's going to take what's left and chuck me into Azkaban!"

Sobering up, Harry glanced at Sirius. "Shit, I forgot they took being an unregistered Animagus so seriously. Should we just admit to illegal dragon breeding?" He didn't look forward to emptying his vault for the fines, but he wasn't about to sell out Cedric.

"If that's what it takes, so be it. I'm not letting a good man rot in Azkaban." Sirius crossed his arms. "Nor am I going back there myself, even if I have to fight my way through every last Hitwizard."

"Su will get her boss to smooth things over." _Hopefully_. He gestured at Cedric. "Charlie, will you keep this under your hat?"

Everyone turned to him, including Cedric, who had ceased sniveling to listen.

Charlie grinned faintly. "Merlin's beard, you lot look like you're one step away from Obliviating me. It'll take some explaining as to where a newly arrived dragon had gone, but of course I'll keep quiet."

Cedric stood unsteadily and shook their hands with both of his, sniffling. "Thank you, _thank you_!"

"It's the least I could do," Charlie said. "The previous alpha was getting on in age and not siring many hatchlings, but thanks to you, there's going to be a great brood of Meadowstalkers this autumn."

From the way Cedric blanched, it was evident he wasn't thrilled by the idea. "_Hatchlings_? You mean... back when I was..."

Charlie shrugged. "I'm not an expert on the whole Animagus angle, but I don't see why not."

"Dear god." Cedric swallowed convulsively, then retreated deeper into the alcove and dry-heaved.

Harry shook his head ruefully. "Some people just don't appreciate what they have."

"Too true," Charlie agreed. He dropped his voice. "Say, why does the bloke have a dick on his cheek?"

Harry snickered. "'Cause it's funny?"

Charlie groaned. "It _was_ funny. Back when I was fourteen."

Sirius gave Harry a victorious look. "Told you it was cliché."

* * *

"I always thought I hated this place," Sirius said as they touched down before number twelve, Grimmauld Place, "but seeing it wrecked like this is actually a little depressing."

Harry dismounted from the broom and stomped his feet to get some feeling back into them. "I'll fix it up in a jiffy—the major stuff, at least. The mess down in the basement might take a while to sort out." He looked at Sirius slyly. "It would go a lot faster if we had a house-elf or two."

Sirius wagged his finger. "You know how I feel about that. Kreacher was enough to put me off the idea for life."

"Well, if you'd rather comb through rubbish yourself..." Harry started for the front door before noticing it was slightly ajar. All was dark and silent behind the fractured windows, but that meant little. He glanced around the empty street and fished out his wand. "Homenum Revelio."

A dim blue glow seeped through the door, outlining a small bent figure somewhere on the ground floor. He tensed.

"An ambush, do you reckon?" Sirius said quietly.

"I don't know..." He watched the outline until it faded not having moved an inch. "There's only one person. A lookout, maybe?"

They stared at the door until Sirius squared his shoulders resolutely. "Dawdling out here is pointless. Let's get in there and give them a proper greeting, whoever they are."

Harry laid the broom aside. "Sounds good to me."

They strolled up the front stairs, nodded to each other, and barged in through the crooked door. Harry scanned the dim foyer, ready to spit curses, but there was no one in sight. He was about to repeat the Human-Revealing Charm when he glimpsed a grey figure on the dusty floor, slim shoulders propped against the wall and face obscured by a cowl.

Running up to the fallen witch, he sagged to his knees. His fingers trembled as he gripped the hem of the cowl, wishing it wouldn't be _her_ he saw underneath, yet his hopes were dashed as he slid it back over sleek black hair revealing Su's pale countenance. Her eyes were closed and her lips bloodless.

"Su! Su, are you alright?" He ran his gaze over her and hissed when he saw thin thistle-fletched darts sticking out of her shoulder and thigh, the fabric around them soaked in blood. When he pinched one to pull it out, she gasped and opened her eyes.

He cradled her head. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Her lips moved soundlessly.

There were footsteps behind him, and Sirius said, "We ought to take her to St. Mungo's."

"Quiet!" He lowered his ear to her mouth.

There was a feeble intake of breath. "Beware... the loincloth."


	20. Snake Cult, Part 1

"Are you sure she doesn't need anything else?" Harry peered dolefully at Su, who lay in bed dressed in a hospital gown. Her breathing had evened out, but her skin was still ashen, and she hadn't woken up since he brought her to St. Mungo's. "Like a potion or a spell?"

The healer in lime robes sighed. "As I said, Miss Li just needs rest. The poison had already spread by the time we administered a bezoar, so it will take her some time to recover." He patted Harry's back. "Don't be alarmed if she sleeps throughout today and tomorrow. It's the best thing for her right now."

Taking a deep breath, Harry wrenched his gaze from Su's pale countenance. "Alright, I'll take your word for it. But if something happens to her..." He eyed the name emblazoned under a stylized leaf on the healer's chest and adopted a stern expression. "I'll hold you personally responsible, healer McQuoid Ward."

The healer tittered. "The name's Fulton, as a matter of fact, Nigel Fulton. Our poisoning ward is dedicated to one Quintia McQuoid, a renowned potioneer who invented—oh, but you wouldn't be interested, you don't strike me as the scholarly type... Gryffindor, right?"

"Ravenclaw, actually," Harry muttered—but the healer was no longer listening, having turned at the sound of an opening door.

A middle-aged Asian couple rushed into the ward. The woman scanned the empty beds along sage-green walls until she saw the one occupied by Su; gasping, she hastened to her side. The man followed at a more sedate pace. His cold black eyes pierced Harry's before homing in on the healer.

"How is our daughter?" he asked in a measured tone.

"Ah, would you happen to be Miss Li's parents?" Fulton wilted under the man's stare. "Yes, naturally... She was attacked with darts coated in paralytic and soporific poisons that our potioneers are still mulling over. While they're as of yet unable to brew an antidote, standard treatment has stabilized her condition, and I'm confident she's going to make a full recovery."

Su's father grunted and strode past the healer as though having lost all interest. Fulton dithered before glancing down at his leaf emblem that had begun to glow. Relief flashed across his unassuming features.

"Excuse me, I must tend to another patient. Stay as long as you like, but do not attempt to wake her—that would be detrimental to the healing process."

With that Fulton bid a hasty retreat, leaving Harry and the Li family alone in the airy ward. The mother perched on the bed and clutched her daughter's hand. Side by side, the two could be mistaken for sisters; she looked strikingly younger than her balding husband, who hovered silent and surly beside the bed.

Harry smoothed down the rumpled robes he had been wearing for the past two days and rubbed his stubbly chin. "Um..." His train of thought almost derailed when Mr. Li's dark eyes focused on him. "I wish we'd met under better circumstances, but... I'm Harry Potter."

"I know." Mr. Li shook Harry's hand perfunctorily and went back to watching his daughter.

For lack of anything else to do, Harry did likewise, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he watched Su's chest slowly rise and fall. Her mother caught his eye and smiled before addressing her husband in a foreign language.

The man glanced at Harry. "Dawei."

He blinked. "Pardon?"

"My name," the man ground out.

"Oh—very nice to meet you, sir." Harry thrust out his hand again, but Dawei turned away, and he sheepishly withdrew it.

Su's mother coughed softly. Dawei's scowl deepened, but he gestured toward her. "My wife, Xiuying."

"A pleasure." Harry clasped her warm hand and inclined his head.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter." Her silky voice was reminiscent of Su's, but she spoke with an accent. "Our daughter talks a lot about you."

He grinned weakly. "All good, I hope."

Xiuying appeared to consider his words. "She said you once nearly destroyed Britain. I'm not from a wizarding background, so I don't know how much of her stories to believe sometimes."

His grin wavered. Had Xiuying been a witch, he would've thought she was ribbing him, but her eyes only held guileless curiosity. "It wasn't that bad."

Dawei scoffed, "It _was_."

"It was, and I deeply regret it," Harry amended.

Xiuying laughed lightly, and he looked at her in surprise before chuckling himself. The silence that fell afterward was almost companionable. Even Su, asleep as she was, seemed to smile faintly.

"Mr. Potter," Xiuying began.

"Harry, please."

"Harry—how did this happen?" She stroked Su's knuckles with her thumb. "While I do not entirely understand the nature of her work, I've accepted that there would be... an element of danger. Was she assaulted while on duty?"

He sucked in air through his teeth. "Not exactly, no. My godfather and I found her collapsed inside our home—she must've been waiting for us to talk about... a legal issue we're facing. That's where she must've been attacked, although who did it and why, I haven't a clue." He averted his eyes from Xiuying's misty gaze only to get speared by Dawei's. "But I intend to get to the bottom of it and give hell to those responsible."

Dawei's eyes bore into his for what felt like minutes, but Harry didn't dare look away until the man gave a slight nod and broke eye contact first. Harry realized he had unconsciously shuffled a few steps back and praised the sharpness of his instincts. It was common knowledge that all Chinese knew kung fu, and Su's father certainly looked angry enough to kick his arse.

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, no time to start like the present." He bent down to kiss Su, but flinched under Dawei's glare and abruptly opted for the safer option of squeezing her hand. "Wouldn't do for me to intrude, and my godfather must be—"

The remainder of the sentence was drowned out by the door banging open. Five brown-robed wizards and witches trooped into the ward; in the hallway behind, Harry glimpsed healer Fulton, who shrank back under his gaze.

Dawei produced an ornamental wand and nudged his wife behind him. Sighing, Harry raised his hands and sidled away from the Lis to draw the Hitwizards' attention to himself.

"Harry Potter, you're under arrest," proclaimed a ratty bloke at the forefront—Theodore Blott or some such. Keeping Harry at wandpoint, he circled behind his back and whispered, "So we meet again. Go ahead, resist. Make my day."

"We've met?" Harry asked blankly.

Dawei's wand swung around to point at Harry too. Xiuying covered her mouth as she peeked anxiously over her husband's shoulder.

"Just a misunderstanding," Harry said weakly as Blott shoved him toward the door. "Nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Li." He gave them a parting wave, then yelped as a wand dug into his back.

So much for making a good first impression.

* * *

"I'm terribly sorry about knocking you out," Harry said, watching an enchanted quill record his words. "Little Ceddy, he's become family to us over the years. Hearing that he was to be butchered like a pig... we just couldn't take it. Had to chase him, reckless as it was." He shifted on his arse; the chair was so uncomfortable it had to be deliberate.

"Aha!" Peabody wiped the perspiration from his balding pate with a handkerchief. "Are you getting this, Mr. Malfoy? _Mr. Malfoy_?"

Draco, who appeared to be relegated to the duty of staring at the Self-Writing Quill, twitched and lifted his chin from his hand. "Every word, Mr. Peabody."

"Excellent." Peabody turned to Harry. "You understand, I presume, that dragon breeding is highly illegal and carries a hefty fine?"

Harry ducked his head contritely. "I do."

"And the tale you spun, that of a mad Animagus?"

He spread his hands, causing the manacles on his wrists to jangle. "You saw right through it, sir." Glancing at Malfoy, he smothered a grin. "Not that it was a very good excuse, with all due respect. You'd have to be a total numpty to fall for it."

Peabody tittered. "Quite so, quite so. Hear that, Mr. Malfoy? To think you tried to convince me to take that cock-and-bull story seriously!"

"But..." Draco sent Harry a betrayed look and gritted his teeth. "My bad, vice-chief."

"Now then," Peabody said, "there's just the matter of where you acquired a dragon egg before we can close the case. Cooperate with us, Mr. Potter, and you can earn some leniency in your sentence."

"Er..." He searched for something convincing to say but came up empty. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember." Peabody tutted, reminding him of Umbridge. Did the Ministry train their employees in that? "That's not good, not good at all—for you and Mr. Black, first and foremost. Need I remind you that assaulting a Ministry official is a potential criminal charge?" He regarded Harry sternly through his monocle. "I'll ask again, who sold you the egg? Please think well before answering this time."

With another jangle, Harry slouched against the backrest and contemplated a crack in the ceiling. As much as he hated making it tougher for Sirius, he just might have to leave it up to him to wiggle out of this one.

He sighed. "I wasn't the one who bought it."

Peabody began to speak, but the door into the stuffy room opened to let in an Auror carrying a thick folder. The vice-chief frowned and pivoted on his chair. "Now see here, we're in the middle of questioning a suspect!"

"The matter of the stray dragon can wait," the Auror said. "We must interview Mr. Potter regarding another case as soon as possible."

While Peabody eyed the Auror with chagrin, Harry felt grateful for the timely rescue. Noticing that no one was paying the Self-Writing Quill any attention, he grinned and spoke a few choice words under his breath.

Peabody rose to his feet, matching the Auror in height if not width. "What could possibly be more important than getting to the bottom of illegal dragon trafficking?"

"Murder," the Auror said, startling Harry out of his recital of a dirty limerick.

"_Murder_?" Peabody gave Harry a wary glance. "Why, I never... Well. I daresay you'll have your work cut out on this one, Dawlish." Adjusting his monocle, he headed out the door. "Come along, Mr. Malfoy."

Dawlish's gaze lingered on Draco as the two filed past. "Malfoy, you're with International Cooperation, correct? Stick around, you might learn a thing or two."

"Murder isn't really my area of expertise, Auror Dawlish," Draco said stiffly.

"I have it on good authority that illegal items were smuggled in from abroad—and I don't mean dragon eggs." Seeing Peabody hover outside the threshold, Dawlish shut the door in his face. "We might need your people to coordinate with the overseas authorities for this case."

Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'bloody Potter' and dragged his feet back to the desk. "Very well, I'm all yours."

Dawlish pulled back Peabody's chair and sank onto it with a grunt. He considered Harry, then plucked the parchment from under the Self-Writing Quill and skimmed through. His expression soured as he read the last few lines.

"Do you consider yourself above the law, Potter?" Dawlish raised a hand to stall his response. "That's a dangerous attitude to take. Sooner or later, you're going to cross a line, and neither your fame nor your services to our country—which, god knows, are great and many—are going to help you." He fixed him with an icy stare. "Some might say you've already crossed it."

It was a testament to how shaken Harry was that he didn't even roll his eyes. "Spare me the lecture. Who died?" He sat up straighter. "Are Su and Sirius alright?"

"Level Nine sent someone to watch over Miss Li while she recuperates. Rest assured, she's in good hands." Dawlish shoved the parchment back under the quill and opened his folder. "As for Black, he's resting in a nice cozy cell. If you care about his well-being, I recommend answering my questions truthfully."

Exhaling, he reclined and fiddled with the chain. "Ask away."

Dawlish glanced at his folder. "You and Sirius Black visited Caldwell's Curious Curios in Knockturn Alley five days ago, did you not?"

"I—I suppose, yes." Whatever he expected, it wasn't this.

"Hmm." Dawlish leafed through his documents. "We have an eyewitness who saw you, by the way, but it's good to see you cooperating. What was your business there?"

"Er..." The shopkeeper must have squealed on them, so lying would only make things worse. He mentally apologized to his godfather. "Sirius bought ingredients for a brew of his. I don't really understand it myself—barely scraped a passing grade in Potions, you can check."

Dawlish gestured irritably. "Yes, yes, the mysterious potion Black refuses to expound on because he fears the formula being stolen. We'll come back to the legality of its ingredients later. What else did you purchase?"

He furrowed his brows. "Nothing much. I did buy a statuette that caught my eye, but I doubt _that's _what you're after—"

"A statuette?" Dawlish leaned in. "What did it look like?"

He looked at the Auror dubiously. "Well, how should I put this... It was a naga woman—"

"A _nah-guh_?" Dawlish glanced at the steadily scribbling quill. "Describe it in detail."

"It was made of this slightly translucent green rock—jade, I reckon—and had a snake's lower half..." He shifted on his chair. "Honestly, why does that matter? It's just a little something I got for my collection."

Dawlish squared his jaw. "It matters, Potter, because Cyrus Caldwell was found dead in his shop—done in by an exotic poison, from the looks of it."

"_Oh_," Harry said.

"I hope for your sake that your surprise is unfeigned. Given the clientele that frequented Mr. Caldwell's establishment, such"—Dawlish pulled a face—"upstanding members of society as yourself and Mr. Black would normally be at the bottom of the list of suspects, yet the Auror Office just caught wind that an Unspeakable was attacked inside your residence—attacked using the very same poison that killed Caldwell."

"Did you say _killed_?" His pulse quickened. "The healer who treated Su at St. Mungo's, he assured me—"

Dawlish waved him off. "Caldwell had a weak heart, and the gentleman who found him collapsed on the floor was more interested in the money drawer than calling for help. You should be more concerned about yourself, Potter. Let's go back to this statuette."

He spread his hands as far as the manacles allowed. "The thing's lying in my room somewhere. If it's so important, let me go, and I'll be more than happy to bring it to you."

"Would you, now?" Dawlish sized Harry up and stood abruptly. "The Hitwizards are combing through your house as we speak, but I don't see why we couldn't drop by and expedite things a little. Keep in mind, you're still under arrest, Potter."

Receiving a resigned nod from Harry, the Auror unceremoniously yanked him to his feet and unlocked the manacles. Massaging his wrists, Harry allowed himself to be ushered to the door, where Dawlish paused as if having forgotten something. "You're coming with us, Malfoy."

Malfoy straightened up from where he had been hunching behind the desk in an obvious attempt to make himself less noticeable. "Begging your pardon, but I have a mountain of paperwork awaiting my attention."

Dawlish raised his eyebrows. "Do you want that promotion or would you rather remain a paper-pusher? Assisting an Auror investigation would look great on your resume."

Draco sighed, and shooting Harry a baleful look, rose from the desk. "Thank you very much for the opportunity."

Dawlish led them to the Auror Office's Apparition platform, clamped his brawny hand on Harry's upper arm, and allowed him to pop them in before number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry shifted foot to foot under the cold wind, half expecting Malfoy not to show up, but he arrived a few seconds later and glanced around the neighboring houses with distaste.

Dawlish tilted his head back to peer at the tarp-covered roof. "That's some damage."

"Breeding dragons in your basement will do that," Harry said. "Not one of our brightest ideas, but we accept full responsibility, of course." He couldn't resist smirking at Malfoy's glare.

"I'll wait outside if it's all the same to you," Malfoy said. "The place looks like it could come down any minute."

"Hey, if you give me my wand, I could fix it up in a jiffy," Harry said, not expecting an affirmative. "I won't resist, promise on my honor."

Dawlish furrowed his brows and glanced around the empty street. "The Hitwizards raised some Muggle-Repelling Charms... Why not." He rummaged in his robes and withdrew a twelve-inch wand of red pine. "You'll only cast the Mending Charm, nothing else—do you hear?"

He snapped off a salute. "Loud and clear."

Eyeing him surlily, Dawlish proffered the wand handle-first. Harry accepted it and pretended not to notice the Auror's own wand not quite pointing at him. He considered the Grimmauld Place's damaged facade, and habitually mouthing the incantation, gestured with a flourish.

A loud grinding drowned out the noises of the city as the cracks in the brickwork closed up and the windows of the lower floors reconstructed themselves from shards like those self-assembling puzzles wizards enjoyed for some inexplicable reason. Dawlish whistled, but Harry pursed his lips at the still-broken windows of the attic; he would have to get closer to fix those.

Traipsing up the front stairs, he opened the now-righted door. "After you, gentlemen."

"I don't think so," Dawlish said. "Take us to where you last saw the statuette—and no funny business."

He placed a hand on his chest indignantly. "I promised, didn't I?"

Dawlish grumbled and waved him on. Harry sauntered inside and toward the staircase, swinging his wand left and right to fix the place up as he went. A bit of an incident occurred when two Hitwizards ran out the drawing-room on the second floor and nearly hexed him, but Dawlish sorted them out. Draco trailed behind silently with his wand held at his side.

Ascending to the third floor, Harry repaired the hole in the ceiling before proceeding to his room. The sight of muddy footprints before the ajar door made him hurry toward it and yank it open. He halted in his tracks. Despite tidying up before departing with Sirius, his figurines were strewn across the floor.

"Fucking hell!" He whirled around, only to freeze when Dawlish pointed his wand at his chest.

"No sudden moves—"

"I'll show you a sudden move," he snapped. "Those wankers downstairs messed with my stuff!"

"The Hitwizards?" Dawlish blinked. "Those slowcoaches haven't gotten to this floor yet."

Harry's eyes widened, and ignoring Dawlish's barked warning, he rushed into his room and crouched before the scattered figurines. On closer inspection, none were broken, and most of his collection was still stuffed in the cardboard box beside the bed.

He swept his gaze around until it landed on an ajar drawer of his desk. Under Dawlish's watchful gaze, he tiptoed toward it and yanked it open. A pile of his enchanting notes burst out, no more messy than usual. He pulled out the other drawers. Writing utensils, parchment, spare change, Firo's snacks... Ripping open a packet of chili peanuts, he poured its contents into his mouth, then pocketed a couple more since it didn't look like he would be able to sit down for a proper meal any time soon. He scanned the room again as he munched. Odd. Nothing appeared to be missing.

"Well?" Dawlish asked from the doorway. "What is it?"

"Someone had definitely been here, but..." Harry trailed off as his gaze lingered on a conspicuously empty corner. His blood ran cold. "_No_. No, no..." He flung open his closet, then knelt to peek under the bed. "It's gone!"

Dawlish stepped inside. "The statue?"

He gestured at the box as he paced around. "The statue's over there somewhere. Who cares! Someone stole my wai—my body pillow!"

"Your body pillow," Dawlish said blankly.

"Oh, _that_," Draco murmured.

Dawlish turned to where Malfoy was hovering at the threshold and raised his eyebrows. "You're familiar with the item in question?"

"A Muggle novelty." Draco shrugged and added pompously, "Someone in my position has to keep up with the times."

The byplay barely registered on Harry's mind. He dug his fingers into his hair. Why would someone kidnap his waifu? As priceless as she was, from an outside perspective her only value was sentimental.

"Report the theft after we return to the Ministry," Dawlish said, ambling up to the bed. "Let's get back to the matter at hand. Where's the statue you bought from Caldwell?" He plucked a figurine of a wolf-eared woman out of the box and gave it a perplexed look.

"Keep your grubby fingers off my lovelies," Harry hissed, causing Dawlish to flinch and drop it. "It's under here somewhere, just let me..." He pulled the figures out one by one until the bottom of the box came into view. "Huh."

"Well, which one of these is it?" Dawlish demanded.

He threw up his arms. "It's not here!"

"I see." Curiously, Dawlish sounded satisfied. "Then it was likely the purpose of the break-in, and Miss Li was simply unfortunate enough to get into the perpetrators' way. They must've learned your whereabouts from late Mr. Caldwell. Given the sorry state of your house, they were able to waltz in and take what they came for."

"That makes no sense," he muttered, plunking on the bed. The statue hadn't been cheap, but if the burglars were after money, they should've targeted the Blacks' antique silverware. First his waifu, and now this...

He clenched his fists. This was _personal_.

"I'll have you provide a memory of the statuette for the Auror Office's Pensieve," Dawlish said, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Do you know if it happens to be enchanted?"

"Yeah," he said, staring into space. "Not sure how, though. Never seemed to do much of anything."

Draco piped up. "And you kept an unknown magical quantity in your bedroom?"

"I..." His first impulse was to justify himself, but in retrospect, it _had _been imprudent. Frowning, he rubbed his forehead. "I was fine, wasn't I? Sirius assured me it wasn't cursed too."

Draco just shook his head, while Dawlish smiled grimly. "The picture is becoming more clear. It must be an artifact of significant value that Mr. Caldwell obtained through less-than-legal means, drawing the ire of its original owners." He cast a stony look at Harry. "You're lucky you didn't meet the same fate—and I don't believe for one moment that you purchased it by coincidence. What are you hiding, Potter?"

He matched the Auror glare for glare. "Nothing. I bought it because it was pretty."

"Pretty?" Dawlish scoffed.

"Someone of your occupation wouldn't have much appreciation for beauty, I suppose," he said, crossing his arms, "but to a discerning eye like mine, it was a work of art. Exquisitely detailed, more lifelike than any I've ever seen..." He froze; he _had_ seen another figurine just like it. Patting down his robes, he reached into his inner pocket.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Dawlish ordered.

Heedless, he pulled out the communication mirror and flinched as the tip of Dawlish's wand glowed crimson. "Merlin's tits, I'm not going to assault you with a bloody hand mirror."

Malfoy sneered. "While I approve of the sentiment, Potter, I doubt that thing alone will be enough to make yourself presentable."

"Maybe if your pals at the Ministry let me clean up before dragging me off..." Scowling, he lifted the mirror and said a little self-consciously, "Shadowlord. Shadowlord! Oi, Brandon, you there? You fat shit, answer me!"

Dawlish lowered his wand a fraction. "What exactly are you doing?"

Harry glanced at him over the top of the stubbornly reflective mirror. "Dawlish, listen, I remembered where I'd seen another figurine like the one stolen. Its owner might be in danger."

"A powerful Dark wizard, no doubt, to hold such a title," Dawlish said. "Tell me everything you know while I round up a squad."

He laughed hysterically. "The bloke's a Muggle. You don't understand—he never leaves his basement, so if he isn't answering..." Dawlish didn't appear convinced, so Harry tossed his wand to him. "See, now I'm unarmed! The poor sod can't defend himself, and you're a big tough Auror, so do your job!"

Dawlish fixed him with a searching look as he pocketed the wand. Harry's earnest expression must've been convincing since he slowly nodded. "We wouldn't want to miss another attack. Take us there."

"Us?" Malfoy did not sound thrilled.

Dawlish glanced his way. "Just keep an eye on Potter while I check up on this Shadow Lord. Worry not, Malfoy, I'll be sure to mention your assistance in my report."

"I'd rather return to my own duties, Auror," Draco said stiffly. "If you still insist I come, I recommend we call for reinforcements—no less than four of your best."

"That so?" Dawlish raised his eyebrows. "Surely a wizard of your caliber can subdue one unarmed suspect if need be?"

"I can, but given the suspect in question is _Potter_..." Draco's shoulders slumped. "It's impossible to explain to someone who hasn't seen the sort of madness he gets up to firsthand."

Harry waved impatiently. "We have no time for this!"

Dawlish nodded and proffered his forearm. "Let's go."

Pocketing the mirror, Harry grabbed Dawlish and Malfoy and Side-Alonged them onto the pavement before the Witherspoon residence. The resounding crack of Apparition was still ringing in his ears when four strangers burst out the front door of the house. Malfoy groaned and rubbed his head before stiffening up.

The strangers skidded to a halt in the front garden and stared. They were a striking and motley bunch. Two burly men with long wooden tubes behind their backs flanked a slighter woman, their scaly mantles exposing their black skin to the just-above-freezing temperature. Behind them stood a pasty man in robes embellished garishly with pentagrams and snakes.

Dawlish raised his wand. "My name is Auror Dawlish. Identify yourselves!"

The mantled men exchanged a glance and hoisted their strange tubes off their shoulders. Dawlish and Malfoy appeared more concerned about the robed wizard who held a wand, but Harry's gaze lingered on the loincloths between the men's parted mantles.

"Return my wand," he whispered, sidling behind Dawlish for protection.

The door of the house banged open to release a red-faced Brandon wielding a gleaming katana. Blood stained the sleeve of his sweatsuit where thistle-tailed darts pierced his pudgy arm. Lifting the katana, he waddled toward the woman. "Give it back!"

The mantled men lifted their tubes to their mouths, the pasty wizard stepped protectively before the woman, while Dawlish trained his wand on Brandon.

Harry whacked him on the shoulder. "He's the good guy!"

Dawlish swung his wand toward the strangers, but the robed wizard struck first, and a burst of blue tore up the pavement in a deafening explosion. Harry was spared the worst of it courtesy of Dawlish's heavy frame, although he didn't feel particularly thankful when the aforementioned frame knocked into him and laid him out painfully onto the tarmac.

He rose to all fours and shook the collapsed Dawlish's shoulder. "Where's my wand?"

When the Auror only groaned, Harry clicked his tongue and rifled through his pockets. Just as his fingertips brushed warm wood, Dawlish's eyes flew open and his hand clamped around Harry's wrist.

He growled in frustration. "Give it back already, you"—his eyes widened as he saw the woman toss a palmful of pebbles—"watch out!"

To his credit, Dawlish erected a passable _Protego_, and the projectiles bounced off without doing any harm—yet when the woman brandished a beaded amulet, what Harry had thought were pebbles sprouted into vines that wrapped the shield and cracked the tarmac to burrow into the soil beneath. Her lips moved as she shook the amulet in their direction again.

"Argh! Get them off, get them off!" Dawlish cowered, shielding his face from dangers unseen, and his shield crumbled.

Harry cried out and toppled over as the vines rushed in to bind his legs. He tugged at them fruitlessly as he cast a look at the chaos in the front garden.

Malfoy had the enemy wizard on the back foot until he hissed desperately to his comrades. A plait-haired man pressed his long tube to his lips and spat out a thin projectile that twanged off Malfoy's hasty shield.

The second blowpiper, his face tattooed to resemble a snake's, launched dart after dart at Brandon. Despite looking like a bloodied porcupine, Brandon lumbered doggedly toward the woman, his gaze fixed on the drawstring bag in her hands.

Another dart sank into his shoulder. Brandon slapped at it as one would at a mosquito, swayed, and fell face-first into the muddy ground, the sword slipping from his fingers. Harry gritted his teeth and tugged at the vines now wrapping him up to his waist.

The snake-like face of the blowpiper contorted in glee, and he hissed to the woman, who turned to respond in kind. The vines stilled, and Dawlish groaned and ran a palm over his face as his eyes regained focus. Harry's relief was short-lived, however, because the enemies gathered around a length of golden chain while keeping Malfoy in check with an occasional blowdart or hex.

Harry swiveled to Malfoy. "Get me out of these!"

Malfoy conjured wind that blew the darts hurtling at him aside and ran up to transfigure the vines into yarn that sagged to the ground. Dawlish braced a hand on Harry's shoulder to rise, still looking disoriented. In the garden, standing over the unconscious Brandon, the attackers took hold of the chain while the woman hissed an incantation.

Without a second thought, Harry seized Draco's arm and Apparated the dozen or so yards separating them from the enemy. Staggering forward, he hugged Snake-Face's torso an instant before an inexorable force catapulted them skyward. Dawlish's hand slid off his shoulder, and he glimpsed the Auror—minus the aforementioned hand—screaming on the tarmac before a howling whirlwind swallowed everything.

Tossed in every direction, Harry held on for dear life. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Malfoy clenching the woman's mantle, his hair tousled and his face twisted in fear. The small island of stability around the Portkey that protected the four travelers from the raging storm did not extend to hitchhikers.

The woman tossed her head angrily, exposing a ropy scar across her throat, and wriggled her shoulders. Malfoy's fingers slid off her flapping mantle, and only a serendipitous gust of wind sent him hurtling sideways rather than into the surrounding hurricane. With a cry that pierced the howling of the wind, he crashed into Harry and hooked an arm around his neck.

Harry's eyes bulged out, and he gurgled through the constriction around his windpipe.

"Don't you _dare_ let go!" Malfoy screamed. "If I die, I'll become a ghost and dedicate my unlife to ruining your reputation!"

"Gerrof—can't—"

His arms trembled with the effort to hold on as his vision blackened around the edges. To make matters worse, the bloke he had bummed a ride on glared over his shoulder—his snake-like face was missing half a nose—and rammed his elbow into Harry's cheek.

"Hold on!" Draco's voice reached him from somewhere far away. "Or I'll haunt everyone dear to you and their descendants forever!"

The blows kept coming, harder and harder, until he could no longer hear Malfoy's yells through the ringing in his skull. His grip slackened, and he plummeted into the howling abyss. The arm crushing his windpipe loosened, and he tried to suck in air, but the wind in his face took away his breath. The hurricane spun and tossed him until spewing him out like a chewed-up toy.

The surroundings abruptly brightened, blue and purple and blue again, enormous and hurtling at him... Someone was screaming... He would've liked to do the same, but just couldn't muster the energy...

His eyelids fluttered shut.


	21. Snake Cult, Part 2

Something feathery tickled Harry's nose. He turned his head to escape, but the tormentor kept at it.

"G'way, Firo," he mumbled, swiping his hand over his face. Instead of warm feathers, he encountered something hard and spiky, and his eyes flew open to find an iridescent beetle atop his nose. "Gah!"

He swept the critter away and sprang to a sitting position, but the world spun around him, and he had to lower his head to his knees until the dizziness passed. A rhythmic whooshing filled his ears—_waves_?

"You're awake," said Malfoy. He sat with his back against a palm tree and was toying idly with a stick.

"Don't sound so disappointed." It hurt to speak. Not risking standing yet, he looked around. Shaded by palms, they sat within spitting distance of a pristine white beach—and beyond it, blue ocean that glimmered in the evening sun. Despite the late hour, the weather was sweltering. "What happened?"

"What happened? _What happened_?" Malfoy stabbed his stick into the sand. "You dragged me into your imbecilic misadventures again, that's what happened! First, bloody Dawlish saddles me with guarding you, as if that's somehow my job—then you Apparate us into the middle of some foreign nutcases Portkeying home—_then _they kick us off into the ocean and I have to swim for a mile while dragging your unconscious arse—"

He held up a palm. That explained his itchy skin and stiff clothes. "I get the gist of it. Thanks for saving me."

Draco deflated. "Whatever. Get me back to Britain in time for dinner with my wife, and I'll consider us square. I'm not getting involved in this business."

Harry eyed him slyly. "But you grabbed on. Back when I Apparated you and Dawlish—or at least his hand. It would've been so easy to let them go and wash your hands of the whole affair... You, Draco, _chose_ to come along."

"Stop calling me Draco." Malfoy crossed his arms. "Trust me, half the time you napped, I did nothing but regret it to the utmost of my emotional capacity. The other half I spent thinking up ways to get back at you for dragging me into this—_and_ for making us fall off an international Portkey midway."

"That was your fault!" He winced and rubbed his throat. Right, thirst wasn't the only reason it felt so scratchy. "You throttled me while that freak pummeled my face."

"It was that or fall to my death!"

"Are you a wizard or not? Unlike me, you had your bloody wand! Use a Sticking Charm or something!"

They glared at each other until Harry groaned and slumped back on the sand. The sky between the palm canopies was so purple it almost looked painted. Closing his eyes, he visualized the gold-and-scarlet plumage of his familiar and sighed when Firo failed to show up.

He glanced at Malfoy. "Look, let's not waste energy arguing. Do you know where we are?" When Malfoy looked like he was about to snap at him, he added, "Approximately."

Draco went back to doodling on the sand. "Too far to Apparate to Britain, that's for certain. We crossed several time zones."

Harry eyed the sun that hovered just above the horizon and furrowed his brows. "It was midday when we left. Do you know what time it is back home?"

Draco sent him a morose look. "I lost my watch. Generations of Malfoys wore it through wars and duels and strife, and I'm the one to lose it because you decided to take a dip in the ocean."

"Did you try summoning it?" He raised his palms. "Okay, dumb question. Well, the most important thing in such a situation is to get our bearings and evaluate our resources. Your wand's one, I suppose." Receiving an indifferent shrug in response, Harry searched his pockets and discovered a cracked hand mirror and a snack packet. "We also have a possibly broken communication mirror whose counterpart is in Brandon's basement, some soggy peanuts"—he patted the metal rod suspended from his belt—"and my Warlock's Rod."

Draco, who had half-risen at the mention of a means of communication, reclined against the palm. "Excellent, Potter. You can use the mirror to arrange your coiffure and impress the local fauna with your insignia."

Harry glared at him halfheartedly, then rubbed his stubbly chin. "Not the worst idea."

Bringing up the mirror, he stilled at the sight of his bruised throat and bloodshot eyes. He touched a scab on his cheekbone and grimaced. Picking up the rod, he aimed it at his chin and pressed the button on its butt. Bristles of his beard fell to the sand with each flick of his wrist.

Draco shook his head. "Good lord, Potter, I wasn't serious. Did you enchant that thing yourself?"

He hummed a tune as he watched several days' worth of stubble give way to smooth skin. "It turns out every Warlock's Rod comes enchanted with a single spell you can activate without an incantation. Some proprietary magic of the Swiss gnomes... I asked them to put in a variant of the Severing Charm that could be used for shaving."

Draco gaped. "An artifact of unlimited potential, and you house a hygiene spell in it?"

"Don't knock it till you've tried it. Besides, what else would I use it for?"

"Gee, I don't know," Draco said. "Live up to the title of _warlock _and charge it with a good curse, maybe?"

"Don't be daft, how often would I need to curse someone?" Harry inspected his shaven jawline from all angles and nodded in satisfaction. "I was skeptical when old Rufus dumped this on me, but let me tell you, it's bloody convenient."

Draco shook his head and looked away.

Still humming, Harry shrugged off his robes, peeled off his soggy shirt, and tried to brush the sand off them without much success. "Oi, give me some water, would you?"

Malfoy sighed and looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Aguamenti."

A freezing torrent blasted his chest, sending him a few steps back, and he yowled, shielding himself with his clothes. "Enough, enough!" The torrent cut off; raking a hand through his damp hair, he licked his lips. "Actually, hit me again."

Malfoy smirked. "With pleasure. Aguamenti!"

He washed himself and his clothes the best he could, then gulped down the liquid erupting from Malfoy's wand. "No homo!"

"Come again?" Draco said, ending the spell.

"Forget it." Water sloshed in his stomach as he wrung out his robes and stooped to gather his scattered effects into them. Tying the sleeves together, he slung the improvised sack over his shoulder. "Well then, let's explore this place."

"Might as well," Draco said resignedly. "Maybe we'll meet someone who can point us to civilization and trade your warlock's insignia for a Portkey home."

"That's the spirit." Harry, of course, had no intention to trade the handiest shaver he had ever used. Draco's wand would do—or perhaps his kidney.

Vivid orange and red streaked the ocean in reflection of the setting sun. Under different circumstances, the water would've looked inviting, but they both had probably had enough swimming to last for a while. To their left, the palms thickened into a jungle that rose over a mountain at the center of the island. As great a vantage point as it must've offered, the jungle was undoubtedly infested with snakes and bugs and other creepy crawlies, so with unanimous agreement, they set off along the beach.

The rhythmic surf and the chirping of crickets filled the air. Fed up with his sloshing shoes, Harry kicked them off and meandered closer to the ocean, where there were fewer twigs to stab his delicate feet. Sinking into the warm sand with every step, he soon broke a sweat. Neither of them was inclined to set a quick pace, partly because there was no particular reason to hurry, and partly because they were refined wizards unused to such a primitive mode of locomotion.

He glanced at Draco, who walked slightly ahead. "Who do you reckon those guys were? The ones we hitched a ride from, I mean?"

Malfoy didn't turn his head. "I'm sure I don't want to know."

"Aren't foreigners wreaking havoc on British soil sorta your department's responsibility?" He saw Malfoy's shoulders stiffen. "What do you think they were after?"

"You tell me, Potter."

"From the looks of it, they're in the habit of collecting naga figurines."

"There's that word again. Speak English, won't you?"

"How many times do I need to explain this? Naga are hot half-snake women. Men too, technically, but who cares."

"Half-snake, you say?" Draco glanced over his shoulder.

Harry caught up. "What is it?"

Draco avoided meeting his eyes. "There have been some weird incidents on the continent. Poison attacks, thefts. Rumor has it, there's a cult of Parselmouths behind them."

He rubbed his chin. "A cult, eh?" The lengths they went to to retrieve the figurines certainly suggested an obsession.

Draco sighed. "Damn it, Potter, don't get any ideas. On the off chance that such a group exists, I'd rather not get in their way."

"I have a bone to pick with them, regardless of who or what they are." He ticked off fingers. "They hurt Su, they pincushioned a fellow man of culture, they stole from me, and they kidnapped my waifu."

Draco took some time to process the statement. "Aren't those last two the same?"

"Not even close. Stealing the statuette is one thing, but taking my waifu makes it personal." He furrowed his brows. "Well, _more_ personal considering they hurt my girlfriend."

Draco looked at him darkly. "If you want to play out your white knight fantasies, be my guest. Just don't involve me more than you already have."

"Oh?" Harry sent him a shrewd look. "So if they were to, let's say, lay their hands on Astoria—"

"I would utilize the full resources of the Malfoy family to destroy them to the last man."

He snorted. "Hypocrite."

"First, we're married. Second, I'm just a bystander—this is your venison, as Muggles say. My advice? If you insist on going after them, hire some mercenaries instead of sticking out your own neck."

Harry decided not to correct him. "First, since they hurt Su, I'm obligated to personally kick their asses—it's the man code. Second, I'm fairly sure her father knows kung fu and will kick mine if I don't bring him a few of their heads on a pike."

"Kung fu?" Draco asked blankly.

"I weep for the state of wizarding education," he said with a sigh. "It's a Chinese martial art. They can, like, leap ten feet in the air and qi-punch you from the other side of the room."

Draco considered him. "There _are_ records of strange native magic the Chinese practiced before wand usage spread through Asia."

He nodded emphatically. "Best not to piss them off. You can never be too careful."

Draco didn't seem inclined to speak anymore, so Harry saved his breath for trudging along. The winding coastline jutted into the ocean, then doubled back to form a picturesque bay. It was the perfect location for a village or a tourist site, and the lack of any human presence made him suspect the island was uninhabited.

They conferred briefly and Apparated across the bay to save themselves the walk. Darkness fell swiftly after the sun sank behind the horizon. The cool breeze off the ocean felt wonderful on Harry's sweaty skin, but despite the reprieve from the heat, he couldn't bring himself to move faster. It had been a long day.

Malfoy moaned and slouched against a palm trunk. "All we're doing is wasting strength. I'm sweating like a centaur, my feet hurt, and I have nothing to show for it."

Privately happy for the break, Harry chucked his sack down and sat on the sand. "Fine, you big pansy, let's ward this place and rest. Trade you some peanuts for water?"

Malfoy looked like it physically hurt him to extend his hand. Harry ripped open the packet and shook out some spiced nuts. They rested against the segmented trunks and munched on this meager fare, lost in their thoughts.

At length, Harry reached for the mirror and called Brandon, Mrs. Witherspoon, Dawlish, and anyone who would listen until giving up. Gazing at the starry sky, he rubbed his stomach. The snack had only made him hungrier.

His gaze landed on a bundle of Bludger-sized fruit atop the palm. They looked like the fresh coconuts Aunt Petunia would sometimes bring from the market. "Oi, Malfoy, can you summon one of those?"

Draco looked where he was pointing, sighed, and took aim. The cluster of fruit swung his way, yet remained attached to the palm.

Harry scooted aside so he wouldn't get whacked in the head. "G'on, put your back into it!"

Malfoy scowled and jabbed his wand upward. "Accio!"

The palm creaked and bent under the tug of the spell. Malfoy's scowl intensified. With an audible rip, a single coconut popped off, hurtled toward him, and walloped him in the stomach.

"Oh, bravo." Harry broke out in laughter when Malfoy glared at him, doubled over in pain. "Break it open, would you?"

"Diffindo," Malfoy snarled. The coconut split down the middle with a squelch, soaking the sand with its precious contents.

Clicking his tongue, Harry picked up a half and poured the leftover liquid into his mouth. It tasted sweet and refreshing, but there wasn't nearly enough to slake his thirst.

"Now look what you've done," he said, reaching for the other half. "Grab another."

Malfoy snatched it before he could, dipped his tongue into the liquid, then gulped it down in a hurry. He eyed the top of the palm tree, the cluster of coconuts swaying slightly in the wind, and aimed carefully.

"Diffindo." The jet of light went wide. "Diffindo." A long green frond was cleaved in half, hanging off by a fiber. "Diffindo!" A coconut popped open in a spray of liquid.

Harry snorted. "You suck. Just use a Summoning Charm before you ruin them."

Draco went red in the face and pointed his wand at him. "You go get them, then."

Expecting to get jinxed, Harry sidestepped instinctively. The Levitation Charm caught him on the shoulder, almost yanking it out of its socket as he was hauled into the air. As he flailed his arms for balance, the rough trunk grazed his back, and he turned around to brace against it with his palms. "Watch it!"

"My bad," Draco said, not sounding repentant in the least.

Harry glared at him, then yelped when something bumped the back of his head. Looking up, he found his prize dangling before him, and forgetting his ire, clamped his legs around the trunk to steady himself. He tugged at the coconut. After a minute of achieving nothing but enduring Malfoy's snide commentary, he got the bright idea to twist it off and tossed it to the ground.

A cry came from below, and gravity tugged at his body; he slid down several yards before clenching his trembling legs around the trunk to bring himself to a halt. His fingers clutched a coconut whose stalk was fraying under his weight.

"Oi!" he yelled, "a little help?"

"Watch where you throw those!"

Harry breathed easier when he felt himself float again. "_My bad_."

He proceeded to twist off the coconuts and send them down, wisely aiming away from the bloke holding him up in the air. Once he figured they had enough, he groaned and wiped his forehead with the back of his chafed hand.

"Are you done?" Draco yelled.

"Yeah! No, wait—can you lift me higher for a bit?"

Draco grumbled something he didn't catch. "Don't blame me if you break your neck!"

Jerked upward by an invisible force, Harry clutched a thick frond to steady himself. His head protruded above the foliage. The air up here was cooler, and the sky was clear and full of stars. He craned his neck, trying to recall his Astronomy lessons in an attempt to determine their location, then stilled. Inward into the island, the bulk of the mountain loomed black against the sky, but its top was crowned by a faint orange glow.

"Potter! My hand's getting tired, but feel free to remain up there if you wish!"

Harry gave the flickering light one last look. It felt artificial. "Yeah, yeah. Get me down!"

He drifted down none too steadily and dropped the last few feet onto soft sand. Draco lowered his wand and stared at him.

"What are you so happy about?"

It was only then that Harry realized he was grinning. "Why wouldn't I be? We're alive, healthy, we found ourselves a meal... _and_ I know where to go." He pointed at the jungle. "I saw lights over the mountain."

"You did?" Draco perked up before his customary scowl returned. "Great, so we have a hike through the jungle to look forward to tomorrow."

"Oh, lighten up." He looked around and picked out the nicest coconut. "And help me with these, I'm starving."

It took them a while to get the hang of splitting coconuts, but there was more than enough for both. Malfoy transfigured wooden spoons to scrape out the soft meat inside, and with his stomach filled, even he became more content. While he did grumble about roughing it in the wild, his complaints sounded perfunctory. After erecting rudimentary wards, the two bunched up their robes in lieu of pillows and shortly fell asleep.

* * *

A bed of coarse sand was far from the comfort Harry was used to, but he was so exhausted he slept like a log, only rolling over to drowsily drape his robes over himself to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Sunrise came all too soon, and with it the racket of the birds in the jungle. He pulled the robes over his head to block the light and the noise, but the air underneath quickly grew too stifling to fall asleep again.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then did a double-take at the mesh tent surrounding Draco's sleeping form. If he managed to conjure a mosquito net, the least he could do was extend the courtesy to Harry, the jerk.

Scowling, he scratched a bite on his leg, then stood and stretched his stiff limbs. A parrot with a yellow belly settled on a nearby branch to watch him. Perking up, he closed his eyes and visualized a gold-and-scarlet plumage.

A ball of flames erupted in the air, fading to reveal his wayward phoenix. She circled him before settling on his shoulder and rubbing her head on his cheek.

"Firo!" he exclaimed, for once genuinely happy to see her. "What had you been doing yesterday, huh? Terrorizing the inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest again? Your master nearly died, silly bird."

Firo craned her neck around, not showing any indication that she was listening.

"Can you take us home? Both of us?" He paused as he absently stroked her warm feathers. There probably wouldn't be a better chance to find his missing treasure. "Scratch that, could you fetch me my wand?"

Firo chirped and pivoted her head to the line of trees. Sighing, he closed his eyes and imagined the twelve-inch wand, smooth and polished, wood grains running along its length...

A wing clipped him on the ear as Firo left his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he incredulously watched her fly over to a palm near the parrot. The birds regarded each other before the parrot fanned out its colorful tail and hissed.

"Aw, come back here!" Tilting his head back, he walked up to the palm. "If you won't bring my wand, at least fly us to the mountain!"

"Squawk," Firo said, bobbing up and down as she stared at the other bird.

The parrot cocked its crested head. "Squawk?"

"Squawk, squawk." Firo flapped her way to the branch the parrot sat on and hopped closer.

The parrot sidled away, pressing itself lower to the branch, then gradually relaxed as Firo trilled and crooned. Straightening up, it gave an answering trill, and both birds took off into the jungle side by side.

Harry tried to call her back to no effect, then exhaled exasperatedly. "You... you friendship slut."

"What are you mumbling about, Potter?"

Turning, he saw Malfoy stir under the net. Perhaps it was for the best Malfoy didn't know they had a way out—if Firo proved amenable, that is. Harry still needed him. More precisely, his wand.

"Just enjoying the scenery," he said. "Get up and crack us open some breakfast."

They washed up, ate, and drank. Draco only offered monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation, and after a mostly one-sided discussion, it was decided they would stick to their original plan and brave the jungle.

Harry stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The beach was heating up like a frying pan, and the air was growing more humid by the minute. He eyed the dense vegetation before them and tried to estimate the distance to the mountain.

"Shall we?" he said without enthusiasm.

Draco nodded grumpily. "Lead the way."

The best thing that could be said about the trip was that they survived it—and it was a closer call than Harry would've liked. His trembling legs gave out when they were scaling the steadily steepening mountain, and only a nearby liana saved him from tumbling down the rocky slope. And that was after they spent most of the day plodding through the sultry, mosquito-ridden jungle in search of the least arduous approach to the peak.

The sun was already on its way down by the time they surmounted the mountain—muddy, itchy, and bruised, their breaths ragged, knees skinned, and clothes looking like they went through a shredder. Harry was the first to plant his scraped palms atop the rocky rim and pull himself up, while Draco caught his breath on a ledge below. As Harry's head rose above the rim, a gasp escaped his lips.

"Well, what is it?" Malfoy asked. "I dare you to tell me we came all this way for nothing."

Harry waved at Malfoy to come up. Before him stretched a caldera of a long-dead volcano, its inner walls falling precipitously to a milky blue lake far below. Flimsy rope bridges crisscrossed the entire span of the caldera, connecting to three sprawling rock terraces on the opposite side.

On the top two terraces, buildings of all sizes, shapes, and colors jostled for space. A tower with wing-shaped crimson roofs wedged between a clay dome and a cottage that wouldn't have looked out of place in Hogsmeade, and behind them, a ramshackle hut swayed on a giant bird's leg. The bottom terrace housed colorful tents and stalls arranged around an unlit bonfire and was crowded with people scurrying about.

Pebbles rolled behind him. He took mercy on Draco, who struggled to climb the last few feet, and yanked him up. The bloke had levitated him up some of the taller cliffs during their trek, after all.

Draco half-rose to his feet before taking in the vertiginous precipice and crouching. His gaze swept over the terraces, and his face lit up. "I take back what I said, Potter—this is better than what I hoped for. It looks like a decently civilized place."

"It _does_?" He hadn't expected Malfoy of all people to approve of such a haphazard—and distinctly foreign—village.

Draco sent him a puzzled look. "You don't see any of those unsightly concrete boxes Muggles prefer to cram themselves into these days, do you? No, this is a proper wizarding settlement. I'm sure someone down there can set us up with a Portkey home."

He frowned at the dig at Muggles, but there were more important things to worry about. Shading his eyes from the sun that hovered above the volcano's rim, he peered at the terraces. "Shall we just risk it and Apparate by sight?"

Malfoy glanced across the caldera and shook his head. "I don't fancy missing and finding out how deep that lake is first-hand."

Harry flopped onto his belly and crawled to the crumbling edge. A small waterfall streamed out halfway down the cliff. Beside it jutted out ledges of rock to which the rope bridges were attached. Lower still, close to the surface of the lake, a carpet floated lazily trailing multicolored smoke.

He _hmm_ed. "How about I cast the Feather-light Charm on us and we jump to those bridges?"

Malfoy looked down and shuddered. "Out of the question."

Harry pushed away and cast his gaze around. "Then the only thing's left is to walk around. Looks like there's stairs down on the other side."

Malfoy eyed the craggy lip of the crater and sighed heavily. "A Feather-light Charm, you say?"

"Easy as pie. I use it all the time." To jump down the stairs at Grimmauld Place, not leap into dead volcanoes, but those were minor details. "Lend me your wand."

Malfoy chewed his lip, then resignedly handed over his wand. "Don't make me regret this, Potter."

Harry tested its heft, then meticulously enunciated the incantation for the Feather-light Charm as he tapped Malfoy and himself on the chest.

"You're certain you cast it correctly?" Malfoy rocked on the balls of his feet and promptly sprang several inches into the air, flailing his arms. At Harry's snort, he scowled and thrust out his palm. "My wand."

Harry grinned and stuck it into his pocket. As Malfoy advanced on him without raising his feet off the ground, he shuffled toward the caldera until his heels hovered over the edge. A glance over his shoulder made his head spin.

Malfoy eyed him apprehensively. "Stop fooling around. I don't intend to lose my wand if you miss your jump."

He smirked to hide his nervousness and rose experimentally on his tiptoes. Weightless, as he should be. "Race you down."

"Give back my wand, you batty—"

"Come and get it," he said, and stepped backward.

The thumping of his heart almost drowned out the wind whistling in his ears. Malfoy's figure atop the caldera shrunk rapidly as the sheer rock rushed closer. He kicked out and yelped when it sent him soaring backward through the air.

He flapped his limbs frantically to direct himself toward the bridge hurtling at him from below, but found no purchase in the air. When his fingers missed the coarse rope that served as the bridge's railings by inches, his heart nearly stopped, but then he caught the edge of a plank below with one hand.

Swinging over the distant lake, he let out a relieved laugh. Thanks to his reduced weight, he easily pulled himself up and sprawled on the planks to take a breather. Far above, Malfoy was still tiptoeing on the edge like the wimp he was.

Smirking, he aimed Malfoy's wand upward. "Accio robes."

With a scream, Malfoy plummeted. Harry's eyes widened, and he canceled the Summoning Charm, but Malfoy still descended too quickly, windmilling his arms and bumping off the crater's wall.

"Arresto Momentum," Harry said, "Arresto Momentum, Arresto—"

None of his spells connected until, a few seconds later, Malfoy slowed abruptly so close to the bridge that his windswept hair brushed the dirty planks and gently dropped the last inch.

Harry suppressed a sigh of relief. "Like I said, easy as pie."

"My wand," Draco croaked, rubbing his nose.

"Hmm, I wonder. You didn't jump by yourself—" He snorted at Malfoy's growl. "Fine, let me just take off the Feather-light."

The bridge creaked as their weight returned to normal. Harry grabbed onto the handrails and scooted closer to Malfoy to return the wand.

Grasping the ropes with one hand, Malfoy swiped the wand off his palm. "You nearly murdered me, you bloody lunatic!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I had to help you along. Charms don't last forever, you know."

Malfoy's pale face gained color. "Your shoddy charmswork barely slowed me!"

He crossed his arms. "My charmswork is outstanding, thank you very much. If anything, it's your wand's fault for not listening to me."

"Is that so?" Malfoy jabbed his wand at Harry's chest, but the gesture was rendered less threatening by his trembling. "Why don't I demonstrate how well it listens to a real wizard?"

He chuckled nervously. "Calm down, Draco. Think about it. You could've gotten stuck up there without a wand."

"Only because _you_ had the imbecilic idea to make off with it!" Malfoy sighed and lowered his wand. "Just so you know, I seriously hate you. And I thought I told you to stop calling me Draco."

"Chin up. We made a great team, even with just one wand. Excuse me." Harry squeezed past him to inspect the rectangular passage carved into the cliff. "Think of the stories you'll be able to tell during your fancy dinner parties when we get back."

"Provided I survive this," Malfoy murmured.

Harry stepped from the wobbly planks onto a stone ledge and peeked through the passage. A shadowy hallway curved off to either side, lit dimly through narrow slits in the rock. The air was humid and smelled of mold. The walls were carved with vaguely familiar glyphs, and Harry squinted at them curiously until Malfoy's voice broke him out of his reverie.

"See anything, Potter? Anything _useful_?"

"No sign of life here." Turning back, he considered the flimsy bridge stretching across the crater with no small amount of trepidation. "Guess we're going that way."

"Let's get this over with," Draco said firmly, but remained in place.

Harry rolled his eyes and took the lead, checking each plank before he stepped on it. He could tell when Malfoy started following by the swaying of the bridge. It only intensified the closer to the middle they got, and soon he had to grasp the railings with both hands to stay upright.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he halted in his tracks. A tiny dragon composed of blue smoke soared past, slowly dissipating in the air. Glancing around, he saw that the flying carpet he had spied earlier was much closer. A couple perched atop it, a hookah sitting between them. The man raised an ornate pipe to his lips, inhaled, and puffed out a bird-shaped crimson cloud. The woman before him made a noise of delight.

Catching her eye, Harry raised his hand to wave, but the bridge lurched in a gust of wind, forcing him to grab the railing and crouch. Laughter reached his ears, and upon straightening up he saw the couple waving back. Grinning, he returned the gesture before continuing on his way.

"Honestly, Potter, you're acting as if it's your first time seeing smoking herbs," Draco said, having observed the spectacle with haughty detachment.

"Never knew you could do such cool tricks with them." Perhaps he would see about acquiring a pipe of his own. Smoking never appealed to him, but puffing out dragons and phoenixes was too wizardly to pass up. "Do you partake?"

"Merlin's beard, no. Such vices are for the weak-minded, as my father always said."

Harry didn't comment, both because Malfoy senior was a touchy subject and because the wind had picked up and the bridge's constant swaying was making it difficult to move. He pulled himself along the railings, his arms getting as good a workout as his legs, his gaze fixed on the lowest terrace looming ahead and above.

At last, he climbed onto solid rock. A low stone fence separated the terrace from the precipice, and he sank on the ground and slouched against it to catch his breath. Malfoy shuffled up on unsteady legs and followed his example.

Some passers-by sent them curious looks, but no one approached, continuing on their business—and there was business to be done since the level they found themselves on was a market. A glittering stand sold silver and golden trinkets, the insides of a bright tent overflowed with linen pouches and potion vials, several stalls offered fruit and fried meat, and many others hawked wares Harry couldn't identify. The patrons that wandered the narrow aisles were just as varied, some topless, others swaddled head-to-toe in white cloth, and others still, he was heartened to see, opting for robes. Perhaps he and Malfoy wouldn't stand out as much as he had feared.

A cheer rose from the center of the market as a bonfire roared to life with a stream of smoke and sparks. The sky wasn't yet dark, but the rim of the caldera cast a lengthening shadow over the village. Torches burned here and there, and some windows on the upper levels lit up.

Harry sniffed the air and turned toward a stall laden with grilled meat. Without thinking, he walked over for a closer look. The stall bristled with wooden skewers upon which were speared small four-legged animals—lizards, or rats, or—on second thought, he didn't want to know. He swallowed the saliva that pooled in his mouth. They had eaten nothing during their trek but Draco's sorry attempts at duplicating the remaining peanuts.

The crone behind the stall shooed off a small monkey that had clambered up a side pole, turned her rheumy eyes at Harry, and said something in a questioning tone.

He forced a smile. "Sorry, I don't understand."

She spoke again, gesturing so vigorously the beaded bracelets on her skinny wrists rattled against each other. When he shrugged apologetically, she spat on the ground and shooed him away like she had the monkey.

A young boy approached the stall, and the crone's lined face split into a smile that revealed she was missing most of her teeth. The boy stood on tiptoes to hand over a couple of copper coins with holes in the middle and received a skewer in return. Watching him tear into the food, Harry gulped enviously. He glanced to Malfoy, still seated at the edge of the terrace, and received a mocking sneer.

Sighing, he stuck his hands down his empty pockets, then stilled as his finger sank into a hole. Hardly daring to hope, he crooked his finger and fished around between the lining, and incredibly, encountered cool metal. Bringing his other hand around, he eagerly extricated his prize: a tarnished silver coin.

He offered the Sickle to the crone with a flourish. She accepted the coin with both hands, turned it over before her wide eyes, and asked something.

"That ought to be enough." He snatched a skewer and sank his teeth into the slightly rubbery meat without waiting for an answer.

The coin vanished from the crone's hands as if by magic. Producing a long wide leaf from under the stall, she loaded it with meat. At least a third of her stock went onto the heap before she wrapped it and offered it to Harry with a toothless smile.

Swallowing, he eyed it with equal parts chagrin and hunger. "Er... Don't suppose I could get some change instead?"

The crone jabbered and extended the bundle toward him.

Well, he _was_ starving. "Cheers."

Feeling worldly and accomplished, he strutted back to Draco and perched on the fence to lay his spoils out on his lap. Appetizing steam rose from the bundle. He wasted no time picking out a skewer and gnawing off the meat.

Malfoy sidled closer. "You have money?"

"Had." He glanced at the crone. Apparently, he hadn't quite grasped the local exchange rate.

"You imbecile!" Malfoy snapped, making him flinch. "How are we going to pay our way home now?"

"It was only a Sickle," he said defensively.

Malfoy threw his arms up. "Even if it wouldn't be enough for a Portkey, it might've bought us a postal bird to send a call for help—and you just go off and waste all our funds on some fried rodents!"

Harry licked the grease off his lips, tossed the empty skewer over his shoulder, and grabbed another. He would've eaten almost anything at this point, but the taste definitely helped. Like chicken, only more stringy and smoky. "Hey, all the more for me."

Malfoy glowered at him, but seeing him munch without care, eventually sighed and took one skewer. Staring the morsel down as though it had personally insulted him, he took a nibble. His eyes widened, and he tore into the meat with little of the decorum expected from someone of his breeding. The pile on Harry's lap shrank as the two raced to devour the food.

Malfoy dropped his last skewer on the ground, wiped his palms on a handkerchief, and vanished the rubbish. "Still," he said mournfully, "how are we getting back to Britain now?"

"Such problems tend to solve themselves." With a full belly, their prospects didn't seem so daunting. "Good things come to those who wait."

Draco snorted derisively. "What are you suggesting, Potter—that we simply sit here until something happens?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm suggesting. There's a certain flow to an adventure that you won't see unless you're as experienced as I am—and my intuition says to stay here." So did his heavy stomach, but Malfoy didn't need to know that.

Draco muttered something unsavory and fell silent.

The sky overhead turned navy, and the lights of the village brightened. The tents vanished in whirls of colorful fabric, freeing a square around the bonfire. A group of dark-skinned men struck up a complex rhythm on their tall drums. Topless dancers spun and stomped on the sandy rock, their elaborate masks coming alive in the firelight.

Harry tapped his foot restlessly as more and more people joined the dance. Even the bonfire was affected by the hypnotic beat, the flames ebbing and flowing and taking shapes of fantastic beasts—yet whenever he focused on one in an attempt to recognize it, the shape would melt in the roaring fire, only to reappear elsewhere.

He didn't know how long they sat there, entranced by magic so unlike what they were familiar with, but at some point, a short figure skirted the dancers and strolled their way. With the bonfire turning the person into a dark silhouette, Harry thought it was a child, but once the figure drew closer he was disabused of that notion: it was an old man with a shock of white hair and brown skin wrinkled like a prune's.

The man came to stand before them. He wore shabby cut-off jeans and a faded T-shirt that read 'I Am With Stupid'. A conch shell with a metal mouthpiece hung from a cord around his spindly neck.

"Er..." Harry tried to catch the man's gaze, but his pale milky eyes remained directed at the vicinity of Harry's right ear. "Can we help you?"

The weathered skin at the corners of the man's eyes crinkled. "The real question is: can I help _you_, Harry Potter?"

He jerked back, then grabbed onto the fence before he could fall into the abyss. The man's high-pitched voice wasn't at all threatening, but hearing his name from the lips of a stranger halfway across the world was enough to cast off the last vestiges of the mesmerizing drum beat.

"Who are you?"

The man turned at Harry's voice, but his eyes still didn't quite meet his. "Ikililou. I have seen our meeting and know for what purpose you came here."

Harry hesitantly waved a palm before the man's milky eyes, but he showed no indication of, well, seeing it. "Riiight. And what is my purpose, exactly... Eek-low?"

Ikililou glanced around conspiratorially, although what purpose it served given that he was blind, Harry had no clue. "The people here, they exchange gossip like currency, and you wouldn't want them to catch wind of the matters you chose to involve yourself in. Let's continue our conversation somewhere more private."

Harry sized him up; it was difficult to imagine the flimsy old man as dangerous. "Alright then," he said, rising to his feet. Seeing the astonishment on Draco's face, he quipped, "Told you."

Ikililou nodded and set off toward the bonfire. Harry made to follow but was stopped by a hand on his upper arm.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Draco asked in an undertone. "You don't know this person, do you?"

"Never met him before in my life," he said with affected nonchalance, "but it's not like we have other options."

Malfoy let go, and Harry hastened after Ikililou, trying not to show just how freaked out he truly was.

Ikililou led them past the undulating line of dancers and up a set of stairs carved into the cliff upon which rested the upper terrace. A cramped alleyway—given that two people would've struggled to walk it abreast, Harry couldn't call it a street—wound between all sorts of fantastic houses. There was little time to gawk, however, because Ikililou brushed his palm against a sandy tower with a myriad of tiny apertures and started decisively toward the wall of the caldera, where a shadowy passage was hewn into the rock.

Ikililou strolled into the passage without breaking his stride. Harry followed. Here and there, glyphs akin to those he had seen at the base of the bridge marked the walls, weathered by time, yet still legible, if looking nothing like the runes he knew.

At Malfoy's murmur, a bleak light lit the corridor, causing Harry's shadow to dance before him. Ikililou walked on steadily, occasionally reaching out to the outer wall; like Harry, he had no use for extra lighting, albeit for different reasons.

Slit-like windows opened into the caldera at irregular distances. The curving corridor had already taken them a good distance from the village, and Harry suspected it spanned the circumference of the caldera. For all he knew, the entire mountain might've been hollow, carved out, from the looks of it, by a people long forgotten.

When a faint whoosh of water became audible in the distance, Ikililou paused and tilted his head. His gnarled fingers stretched to the conch hanging from his neck. Bringing its mouthpiece to his lips, he produced a discordant note that echoed along the corridor. A rectangular chunk of the rock on the outward side vanished without a trace.

Ikililou started toward the opened passage, only to bump against the jamb and recoil. Swearing under his breath, he groped his way inside and motioned them to follow.

Harry exchanged a look with Malfoy and preceded him into what appeared to be a home. The single stone room housed woven baskets, a jug of water, a smoldering brazier, and several dingy cushions arrayed around a low, flat slab of stone. Straw mats were scattered haphazardly on the floor, and uneven shelves were cut into the far wall, loaded with tableware and assorted paraphernalia.

Once everyone was over the threshold, Ikililou blew his conch again, and the entrance disappeared, casting the place into a gloom only dispersed by Malfoy's wand. Harry patted the rock; it felt corporeal, yet let through a cool breeze.

Another shrill note, and the oil lamps on the walls sputtered to life. Ikililou flashed his white teeth in Harry's general direction as he groped around for a cushion. "It is safe to talk."

"Right." Harry eyed the cushions and slumped down onto the cleanest one. While he didn't fancy making himself more vulnerable, he was on his last legs. "First off, how do you know who I am?"

"I told you, I have seen our meeting," Ikililou said. "Do you intend to waste the little time you have on inane questions, Harry Potter? Your enemies aren't sitting idly by."

"My _enemies_?"

"The Cult of Mara. Worshipers of the immortal serpent. Snake-loving zealots." Ikililou's expression grew more and more incredulous until he laughed. "How did you end up here without knowing who you were dealing with?"

He pouted. "That's what I came here to find out. Who or what is Mara, and why would her followers come to Britain?"

Still snickering, Ikililou wiped his pale eyes. "She was the last great queen of the ocean dwellers whom the Atlanteans warred to extinction. They say her power was so great, even the god-mages of times past couldn't destroy her. Instead, they sealed her and cast the pieces of her prison to the four directions, so that they may never be reunited." He scratched his stomach through his threadbare T-shirt. "Or something along those lines."

"Something along those lines?" Draco repeated flatly.

Ikililou's forehead creased. "Do I look like a historian? What's important is that you're looking for them, and I am offering my help."

"See here, that's a misunderstanding," Draco said. "I don't know about Potter, but the only thing _I'm_ looking for is a way home. How about you help me with that, and I'll make sure you're adequately compensated once I'm back in Britain?"

Ikililou made a rude noise. "My services are worth more than whatever gold you can scrounge up, boy."

Harry barely listened to the byplay, his mind awhirl. If the statuettes were pieces of a prison, did that make them Horcruxes of a kind?

"Is it just a legend?" he asked slowly, "or does this Mara truly exist?"

Ikililou's shoulders rose and dropped. "Beats me."

He worked his jaw, then shook his head, refusing to get provoked. "Let's say I believe you. How would you even know where to find these cultists?"

"I ran into them while they were studying the ancient symbols around here a decade or so ago. They took offense at my presence, but we resolved everything peacefully." Ikililou cackled. "Then I cast a little juju and tracked them to their hideout. Ha! They snooped around my home, so it's only fair I do the same. Never actually set foot there, but I learned enough to get you in."

Malfoy harrumphed. "That sounds fascinating, and I wish you two the very best in your endeavors. Now, Mr. Ikililou, if you would mind opening the door for me?"

Ikililou blew his conch, and the wall vanished letting in the noise of falling water. "Watch your step. This place is a sanctuary for those whom the so-called civilized governments deem Dark."

Malfoy vacillated at the threshold, then squared his shoulders. "I have my magic, which is all a wizard needs."

"You're _leaving_?" Harry blurted out.

Malfoy gave him an exasperated look. "Potter, I have no desire to tussle with some poison-spitting crackpots. If you aren't coming, then I'll search for a way home on my own."

Harry glanced helplessly at Ikililou, who was observing—well, _listening—_with a serene expression. If he was going up against a cult, he would rather have a capable wand on his side, even if it was Malfoy's. He searched for something convincing to say and perked up when his gaze landed on the embers in the brazier.

"I won't stop you," he said airily, "but I'm your only sure ticket out of here."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"You might not be aware, but phoenixes can transport people in a burst of fire. I could call my familiar and get us out of here"—he snapped his fingers—"like that, anytime." He neglected to mention that he had been trying just that for most of the day.

Emotions battled on Draco's face—disbelief, hope, anger—until he stalked back inside and gripped his lapels. "And you didn't say anything? Call it right now!"

He grinned. "No. Not until we get to the bottom of this."

Draco's face darkened and he lifted his wand. "Maybe if I hurt you enough, it'll come to your aid..."

He raised his palms, feeling rather defenseless. A series of notes blared, and Draco let go of him with a cry.

"Lumos! W-what did you do?" Malfoy looked around wildly, then pointed his wand at his eyes. "Finite! Finite Incantatem! Undo this, you old bastard!"

Laughing, Ikililou watched him flail around, then put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Malfoy blinked, his gaze refocusing, and brought his wand to bear on Ikililou.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, boy. I need Harry Potter because I saw him paying me back, but you? You're irrelevant."

Harry rose on his haunches in preparation to tackle Malfoy should need be. Malfoy's aim wavered as his grey eyes alternated between Ikililou and Harry.

"Listen," Harry said, "if this chap saw me in the future, that means I come out on top. Stick around and you'll probably be okay too." He turned to Ikililou. "Right?"

Ikililou gestured dismissively. "All I know is that someone who looks like you will provide me with something I've been seeking for a long, long time. Whether you triumph over the cult or become their senseless puppet makes no difference to me."

He pressed his lips together. "You know what? As long as you don't saddle me with another Dark Lord, that's alright in my book." He grinned at Draco. "So, what's it gonna be?"

Malfoy's shoulders slumped. "I hate you."

"Nice going, you just doubled my work," Ikililou groused. He stood spryly, strolled to the shelves, and ran his fingers over the implements within. "No matter, I'm in need of fresh ingredients anyway." He turned around abruptly. "You agree, then, to do me a favor when I ask of it?"

He blinked. "That depends... This isn't a ploy to get my firstborn child or something, is it?" An image of soaring on his Firebolt amid a gaggle of black-feathered, green-eyed harpy chicks came to his mind. There was that pang in his chest again. Probably the lack of electrolytes after sweating all day.

Ikililou snorted, jolting him out of his ruminations. "What would I want a diaper-shitting toddler for? Contrary to the common belief, few rituals require newborn sacrifice, and none appeal to me. Your spawn wouldn't even fetch a good price on the black market."

"Would too," he said indignantly.

Ikililou cackled. "Not if it takes after you! No, your future offspring, should you manage to beget some, are safe. We're talking about a certain physical item of no personal value to you. What do you say?"

He shoved a hand down his pocket and crossed his fingers. "In that case, I promise." As sketchy as the deal sounded, it held no binding power unless the proper ceremony was carried out.

Ikililou's milky eyes centered on him. "Then I'll see about the preparations. Tomorrow, I'll take you to your destination."

He bobbed his head absently before frowning. "Hang on a tick. You can't send me into a den of crazy cultists unarmed!"

Ikililou snickered. "Lost your wand, have you? Even the dullest Uagadou student can make their enemies' jaws fall off with a wiggle of a finger. Don't tell me a graduate of the famed Hogwarts School has no wandless magic at all?"

"I can—_could_ do things! Just feeling a bit under the weather right now." He scowled at Ikililou's skeptical look. "Could you maybe find me a wand?"

"In the middle of the night, without money, in a settlement of less than half a thousand people whose magical tradition is far removed from yours?" Ikililou paused for dramatic effect. "Of course! How hard can stuffing a piece of a magical animal into a stick be?" He rubbed his gnarled forefinger and thumb together. "It'll cost you extra, though."

Harry spread his hands. "Just add it to my tab. I'll pay you back as soon as I can, promise."

Ikililou's teeth glinted in the flickering light. "Be careful with the promises you make. Someone less principled than I might take advantage." Walking out the exit, he spoke over his shoulder. "You may rest here. I'll visit a craftsman friend of mine and get your wand done by tomorrow."

Before either of them could say a word, the wall became solid again. Malfoy swore and rushed over to tap it with his wand.

"We're trapped!"

"As far as traps go, this is far from the worst one I've had the displeasure to fall into." Yawning, Harry cast his gaze around. "Dibs on those mats."

"What?" Malfoy goggled as Harry aligned the straw mats end-to-end beside a wall and rolled up his robes to serve as a pillow. "You're going to sleep? That geezer could be selling off our organs to the highest bidder, for all we know."

"The chap seems too eccentric for an uncouth scheme like that. If he's going to screw us over, it'll no doubt be in some grandiose and convoluted manner." He yawned again and considered Malfoy's unconvinced expression. "Look, I wouldn't have a clue how to break out of here even if I wanted to—short of blowing up the wall, of course, but that seems like a poor way to repay Eek-low's hospitality. How about we do as he says and see what tomorrow brings us?"

Judging by the sag of Malfoy's shoulders, he resigned himself to the horrible fate of spending the night under a roof. He didn't immediately follow Harry's example, however, and spent at least ten minutes murmuring incantations and swishing his wand. Reposing on the mats, Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye until he began dozing off.

"Potter?"

"Yeah?" he mumbled, turning his head.

Malfoy peered at him from a bed of conjured linens. Jerk. "Can your familiar transport people? Across the ocean, even?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "In a snap." When she felt like it, anyway.

"If I'm to go with you, I want you to promise to call it at the first sign of trouble. Make it get me out, at least, if you insist on continuing this fool's errand."

"I promise," he said wearily. "Nighty-night, Draco."

Malfoy grumbled something in response, but Harry drifted off before hearing it.


	22. Snake Cult, Part 3

Harry rubbed his eyes, and groaning at his aching muscles, sat up. Daylight filtered into the room through a seemingly solid stone wall. Malfoy stood before it and alternated between tapping the stone with his wand and kicking it.

"Mornin'," Harry mumbled.

Malfoy fixed him with a bloodshot gaze. "About time you woke up, Potter! We're locked in!"

He slowly stood and stretched. "Eek hasn't shown up yet?"

"I told you he was bad news!" Malfoy turned to the wall. "I can't make heads or tails of this... It's permeable to air and light but not anything else."

Yawning, he joined Malfoy by the wall. He rapped it with his knuckles, pressed his ear against it, eyed it from up close, and even gave it a sniff. "Hmm. Interesting."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Do share the insights you gleaned, Potter."

Harry had not, in fact, gleaned any insights, but that sounded like a challenge. He furrowed his brows and tried to ignore the intensifying call of nature. "It could be a matter of perception. We think the wall's there, so we can't get through." He squeezed his eyes shut, stepped forward, and rebounded off the hard stone. "_Ow_. Or not."

Malfoy snorted. "I can tell I'm in the presence of a master. Move over."

As Malfoy resumed his thus far futile probing of the wall, something niggled in the back of Harry's mind. Perception... "Malfoy, didn't you put up some protections yesterday?"

Malfoy spared him a glance. "What of it? I couldn't trust a kook like him to do us no harm."

He gestured impatiently. "What did you use?"

"Well... The Boundary-Monitor, naturally, as well as _Cave inimicum_, _Sensus Abscondam_, and—"

Harry cuffed him on the back of his head. "The Notice-Me-Not?"

Draco scowled and appeared ready to retaliate, then blanched. "_Oh_."

"Oh's right, you daft git! Hurry up and undo it!"

Malfoy didn't waste time talking back and just flourished his wand. "Finite."

They stared at the wall. The level of light seeping through changed subtly, but nothing else of note happened. Harry danced on his tiptoes. Ikililou better return soon, or he wouldn't be responsible for any liquid damage to his belongings.

As if answering his wish, the outer wall abruptly vanished, revealing a sunlit corridor in which Ikililou stood in all his wrinkly glory. He carried a bundle wrapped in cloth and for once did not look amused.

"Decided to occupy my house, have you?"

"We thought you locked us up for good!" Draco cried.

"_I_ thought I'd lost a portion of my memory in Dragon Poker again," Ikililou retorted, "and forgot to write myself a note!"

"You wager your _memories_ in a card game?"

"Can this wait?" Harry squirmed. "Eek-low, where's the nearest comfort station?"

Ikililou's lips stretched back from his teeth and he raised a hand off his burden to point. "Behind the waterfall."

Harry took off. Ikililou's and Malfoy's resumed argument faded behind him as the sound of running water loudened. He returned five minutes later, relieved, refreshed, and soaked through. His companions seemed to have ironed out their differences and were chowing on some small fluffy pancakes Ikililou had procured.

Perking up, Harry sloshed his way to the table, snatched himself a fork, and speared a pancake to take a greedy bite. It was piping hot and tasted mildly of coconut. He blew on the half remaining on his fork, then popped it into his mouth with relish.

"Feel free to join me for breakfast," Ikililou said acerbically.

"Cheers," he mumbled, sucking air through his mouth to cool the food.

Ikililou tilted his head at him. "You're dripping on my floor."

He speared another pancake. "It needs washing anyway."

Ikililou glared at him for a moment, then laughed and tossed some herbs into a pot. Draco scarfed down his breakfast, dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, and jumped to his feet.

"Pardon me," he said, squeezing past the table and toward the exit.

"Careful, the rocks are slippery," Harry advised.

Draco grunted and disappeared around the corner. Harry went back to demolishing the pancakes, nodding his gratitude when Ikililou set a clay cup before him. The steam rising off it was fragrant with herbs.

"You're welcome," Ikililou said pointedly.

He swallowed hurriedly. "Thanks."

Ikililou nodded graciously. Picking up a spare fork, he stabbed a pancake from the diminished pile and brought it to his mouth.

Harry's eyes narrowed at his dexterous movements. "Excuse me, but... you _are_ blind, right?"

"_Blind_?" Ikililou cried, gesticulating with the fork. "What an insult! I'll have you know, Harry Potter, that I see more than most!" He immediately proved it by stabbing the stone table and wincing when the fork was jarred out of his hand.

Watching him grope for the dropped utensil, Harry resisted the temptation to speak. If Ikililou was messing with them, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of playing along.

By the time Malfoy returned, the food was gone and Harry was contentedly sipping his weird tea. (It wasn't nearly as good as British, of course, but it would do in a pinch.) He looked Malfoy over. His wrinkled robes were dry, but his hair was damp and his shoes squeaked with every step. It wasn't hard to put the two and two together.

"Warned ya," he said, smirking.

Sitting down on the nearest cushion, Draco kicked off his shoes and upended them to shake out the water. "Be quiet, Potter, and maybe I'll dry you off after I'm done with these."

"Doesn't look like I'm missing out on much. Easy on that swish, charmswork needs a gentle approach." Leaving Malfoy to wave his wand irritably over his footwear, he swiveled to Ikililou. "That reminds me, were you able to get me a wand?"

"I said I would, didn't I?" Ikililou reached into the pocket of his cut-off jeans and pulled it out with a flourish.

Harry gaped. Clutched in Ikililou's gnarled fingers was a branch not unlike the one Draco had played with on the beach. Roughly a foot long and thicker than any wand he had ever seen, it still had patches of bark in places and unseemly knobs where smaller twigs had been trimmed off. Worse yet, the tip that looked like it had been crudely sawed off was crooked sideways.

Ikililou thrust it out. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Harry reached out but held back. Taking it would mean accepting Ikililou's claim that this... this abomination was a wand. "It doesn't look very, uh, finished."

"Do you want it to look pretty, or do you want it to do its job? I'd like to see British wandmakers do better on such short notice!"

Against his better judgment, Harry clenched his fingers around the rough wood. His palm tingled as he looked the stick over in fascinated horror.

He had come into contact with quite a few wands in his life. His own, the one with the Core-That-Must-Not-Be-Named, thrummed with energy, eager to be wielded. Draco's remained cool and aloof, not going beyond the bare minimum and punishing the slightest mistakes in incantation or gesture. Others still, he recalled, felt little more than twigs.

This one, though... It had power, all right, but it was so crude, so half-arsed, that if it could speak, he was certain it would beg him to end its misery.

Ikililou smiled smugly. "Barely an hour's work, and it only cost me a bottle of rum. How much did you pay for yours?"

"Seven Galleons," he muttered, trying to find a stable grip.

"Seven—" Ikililou gasped. "For that much gold, you could wrap yourself head to toe in charm amulets! Your countrymen must be crazy. I should tell Tsinjo to move to Britain—he would make a killing!"

"That the wandmaker you mentioned?" Harry privately doubted the bloke would have much success competing with Ollivander.

Ikililou blinked. "Wandmaker? No, no, I said he was a craftsman. Builds tables and stools, mostly."

Draco's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Harry eyed the stick with dismay, then carefully waved it to get a feel for the irregularly distributed weight. Perhaps Ikililou was right: it just needed to work, nothing more.

Licking his lips, he swished-and-flicked at his teacup. "Wingardium Leviosa."

The cup rattled on the table and burst into smithereens, spraying the remains of his tea over the room. He wiped his forehead with a wet sleeve. "It bloody exploded!"

"Yes, nicely done." Ikililou fished a clay shard out of his white hair. "You owe me a cup."

Harry fixed him with a stare. "It was supposed to _levitate_."

"What would be the point of that?" Ikililou sounded genuinely stumped. "Do you want to destroy your enemies or impress them with floating tableware?"

He growled and shook the stick, causing sparks to fly out its tip. "Have you even looked at this thing?" In retrospect, that was a poor choice of words, but he was too heated up to care. "It curves left! I won't hit anyone farther than a few feet away!"

Ikililou threw up his arms. "Then aim to their right! Are all British this stupid?"

Draco burst out in laughter. "Oh, get over it, Potter. It suits you perfectly."

Harry trained his 'wand' on Draco, who flinched and ducked.

Ikililou rose from his cushion. "Now that you have your fancy stick, I'll take you to the cultists' hideout as we agreed."

Harry wasn't ready to table the discussion about his wand, but Ikililou evidently was, so he just sighed and carefully slid the stick into his inner pocket. "How are we getting there? Apparition? Flying? Portkey?"

"Boat," Ikililou said, walking over to the shelves.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "_Boat_?"

"A wooden vessel that floats on water, yes."

Draco glared at his back. "Why are we taking a boat to wherever it is we're going?"

Ikililou's expression as he glanced over his shoulder was unusually grim. "Because the only way in is by sea, and the magic that makes it so is ancient and temperamental. I advise you not to test it." He ran his fingers along an array of dusty bottles. "Even that route is heavily protected, hence our preparations."

Ikililou rummaged through the shelves, tied bags to his belt, and stuffed a mortar and pestle as well as other herbalist's tools into his bottomless pockets. Thus equipped, he took them outside and blew his conch to seal his home. Waving them to follow, he set off along the corridor.

Halfway to the settlement, he began muttering and trailing his palm along the wall. His fingers brushed an inconspicuous protrusion, which depressed with a click. Unseen mechanisms rumbled as a dark passage opened into the mountain. Ikililou strolled in without a backward glance.

Harry and Malfoy peered at the cave suspiciously, neither inclined to go first, until Ikililou stuck his head out.

"Stupid Englishmen, do you want my help or not?"

Chastised, they entered the passage. The entrance rumbled closed, but between his spectacles and Draco's wand light, Harry could easily make out the rough-hewn walls. The passage was much cruder than the glyph-marked corridor behind, and he had a hunch it was built in a different era. It angled down and occasionally veered left or right for seemingly no reason. At times, cold water dripped from the cracks in the ceiling.

Harry wanted to ask where they were going, but given Ikililou's propensity for derisive and completely useless answers, he held his tongue. He didn't need to wonder long, because they encountered a dead-end not a quarter of an hour later, which rumbled open at a pull of a rusty lever.

Sunlight flooded the passage, accompanied by a rush of humid heat, pungent smells of soil and exotic flowers, and the noises of birds and insects. Ikililou stepped outside and tested the scree-strewn trail under his feet.

Following suit, Harry shielded his eyes. They had emerged near the base of the mountain, onto a small path leading down into the jungle. While steep and winding, it was incomparably better than the route he and Malfoy had braved yesterday. Still...

"We're going to the beach, right?" he asked. "Couldn't we just Apparate?"

Already shuffling down the path, Ikililou turned his head to answer. "We have to gather some ingredients on the way. Don't fret, Harry Potter. I was counting on sneaking you in under the guise of the night to begin with."

Harry eyed the green canopies below, exhaled, and unbuttoned his robes to tie their sleeves around his waist. _Brilliant_, another day of slogging through sweltering heat. No place in the world had any business being this hot in bloody February.

The path meandered off between the trees. The thick foliages sheltered them from the sun, but it was a mixed blessing since they also blocked off any breeze. In minutes, the shirt that had begun to dry was clinging to Harry's skin again. Ikililou displayed no sign of discomfort as he followed some barely noticeable trail. Any doubts Harry might've had about the blind man's ability to navigate the jungle were dispelled by the way Ikililou ducked under branches and stepped over protruding roots. In another situation, he might've puzzled over the mystery, but he had his hands full just keeping up.

More than once, Ikililou squeezed through the underbrush whereas Malfoy had to clear a path for their larger bodies with Severing Charms. Ikililou did wait for them, but not without biting commentary. Harry would just swallow his annoyance—it embarrassed him that a man who looked five times his age was spryer than him—but Draco voiced his complaints loud and clear. Not that they slowed down the grueling pace Ikililou set in the least.

The first break came after Harry crashed through a bush and stumbled into a murky pond. Ikililou squatted at the shore and groped around until his fingers encountered one of the many floating pink blossoms. He plucked a petal, and crumpling it, brought it up for a sniff. Harry slouched against a tree by the water and caught his breath.

Draco trudged up. "Potter," he said breathlessly, "is there any point in subjecting ourselves to this? Take us home—_please_. I'll hire the best experts to research this cult for you."

Harry closed his eyes. It was tempting, very tempting—yet when he thought of Su lying pale and comatose in bed, and of the empty corner in his room where a red-haired lamia would rest her magnificent coils, his determination surged anew. "We're hot on their trail. I can't let this chance slip away."

Ikililou stuffed a handful of petals into one of his bags and straightened up. "That's the spirit. Come, we still need boomslang venom. If you get bitten by a large green snake, grab on and don't let it get away!"

With that foreboding instruction, the journey resumed. The heat grew even worse, but breaks became more frequent, and Ikililou's bags began to sag with the weight of the herbs and fungi he gathered. When Harry inquired if all that was necessary to get them to the cultists' hideout, the old fart laughed in his face.

"Most is for my own purposes. Might as well use the chance to replenish my supplies, no?" he explained, making Harry grind his teeth.

The most dramatic part of the trek came when Ikililou cried and lunged at a thick green liana—except it was no liana but a snake. At his frantic urging, Harry and Draco helped him wrestle the boomslang into submission, whereafter Ikililou milked its venom into a bottle.

"We can head to the coast now." Ikililou jiggled the bottle beside his ear as the violated boomslang slithered off, hissing what must've been expletives. "Hungry, Englishmen?"

Harry and Draco murmured in affirmative.

"Then why didn't you eat on the way?" Ikililou mocked. "We passed too many fruit trees to count."

Scowling, Harry looked around. The branches of a bushy tree nearby were abundant with what looked like green crabapples. He stomped up to it and twisted one off. "Right. Can I eat _these_?"

Ikililou sniffed the air. "Manchineel? Oh, certainly."

Harry rubbed the small fruit on his shirt and lifted it to his nose. It certainly smelled sweet.

"If you want to get blisters in your mouth and puke blood," Ikililou continued. "And that's nothing compared to what the tree's sap will do to you."

His teeth froze a centimeter away from the manchi-whatever's flesh. The corners of Ikililou's eyes crinkled in a smile. Swearing, Harry tossed the fruit aside and wiped his hand on his shirt.

Snickering, Ikililou bent down to dig out a pebble. He blew—or perhaps whispered—over it before rearing his arm for a throw. The pebble whistled through the air, curving unnaturally, before _thonk_ing into something overhead and spooking a colorful bird. With a rustle of leaves, a large green fruit fell into his hands.

He chucked it to Harry. "Soursop."

"Er, cheers," Harry said, not having the foggiest of what that was. The fruit's tiny thorns pricked his skin as he extended it toward Malfoy. "Draco, mate..."

"I'm not your mate. Diffindo." The fruit split down the middle, exposing juicy white pulp and black seeds. "Give me half of that."

"Get your own, boy," Ikililou said, stooping to pick up another pebble. "Don't tell me you can't even do that much."

Scowling, Draco looked up to where more green prickly fruit dangled from the branches. It took him several tries—interspersed by Ikililou's laughter—but he eventually succeeded in summoning one to his hands. After filling their stomachs, they made for the coast.

The jungle grew sparser, letting through some wind, and with the sun rolled to the lower half of the sky, the heat became less oppressive. Unfortunately, evening meant mosquitoes coming out in force, and it wasn't long before Harry was alternating between swearing and slapping at his exposed skin. Fed up, he untied his robes from his waist and slipped them on. His gaze lingered on Ikililou; the insects fluttered around him but never landed on his wrinkled skin.

"How come you aren't getting bitten, Eek?"

Ikililou looked at him as if he were stupid. "Magic, what else?"

"Well, can you cast the same on me—_us_?" Draco demanded, catching up.

"Are you helpless babes? Cast it yourselves." Ikililou cackled. "I thought you enjoyed providing sustenance for the mosquitoes. To think the renowned Hogwarts school does not teach its pupils a charm that basic."

"Son of a..." Malfoy brandished his wand. "Incendio, Incendio, Incendio!"

Harry leapt away from a plume of flame that nearly singed his eyebrows. Malfoy looked around and gave a triumphant 'Ha!' at the lack of mosquitoes, but it was barely a minute before they swarmed him again. Ahead of them, Ikililou snickered.

Ocean came into sight, glimmering in the setting sun, and a salty breeze cooled Harry's face. As they stepped out into the beach, he shielded his eyes and looked for a ship moored nearby, but there was only white sand and the waves lapping at its edge.

"I don't see a boat."

Ikililou set off along the boundary of the jungle. "It's around here somewhere. I always forget where I leave it."

Harry's eyebrows rose, but he followed without comment, weary after the trek. They walked for another ten minutes before Ikililou exclaimed and dived into a thicket of palms that Harry's gaze had passed over. Sticking his spindly arms into the undergrowth, he pulled at a vine. A mat of fronds slid off a canoe propped against a palm. Long and narrow, its surface fractured and bleached by the sun, it was little more than a hollowed-out log with a collapsed mast near its bow.

Halting in his tracks, Harry eyed it with dismay. It wasn't like he expected Ikililou to summon a ghostly galleon from the depths of the sea, but it was difficult to get any more disappointing than _this_.

"Go on, drag it to the water," Ikililou said. "Or are you going to make an old man do all the work?"

"Oh?" Malfoy stopped beside Harry and folded his arms. "What's the matter—can't do something as basic as a Levitation Charm?"

"Pah!" Ikililou spat on the ground. "You think everything should be solved by waving your wand, boy. Put your muscles to use for once or you'll always be a skinny runt."

Harry laughed, not so much at Malfoy's expense, but at the irony of the diminutive man calling someone a runt. Malfoy fingered his wand with a sneer.

"Oh, let's just get on with it," Harry said, drawing his own. "Wingardium Leviosa—"

With a resounding _boom_, the trunk of a nearby palm several feet above the ground shattered. Its upper part toppled onto the beach, passing close enough to Ikililou to ruffle his grizzled hair. Harry shielded his face from the spray of sand the tree kicked up.

"Right," he said in the ensuing silence, "forgot it does that." It was lucky the wand was crooked, or the boat would've been in pieces now.

Ikililou wiggled a finger into his ear. "That's wand magic for you. All noise and show but not much use."

"Wish you'd aimed a little to the right," Draco murmured. He stepped over the fallen palm and raised his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa."

Ikililou scooted aside as the vines tying the canoe snapped and it wobbled out into the beach. Malfoy furrowed his brows, rotating it the right side up with a swish and directing it toward the water.

Ikililou plugged his nostril with a finger and trumpeted. "Took you long enough."

Malfoy set the canoe down on wet sand and sent him a dark look. "Are you certain this thing is seaworthy? How far do we have to go, anyway?"

"I've been going out into the sea before you were a twinkle in your daddy's eye." Ikililou yanked the frond mat out of the thicket and spread it on the sand. "Be patient. We won't get far without something to turn away the guardian."

"The guardian?" Harry asked.

Ikililou snickered. "You'll see. Oh, yes."

Harry doubted he could get more out of the insufferable old man, so he simply watched him kneel and lay out his tools on the mat. These included two gleaming copper bowls of different sizes, a stirring rod, a mortar and pestle, and a round paintbrush. The sight of Ikililou's arms sinking to the elbow into his pockets to pull out one item after another resembled an act of a Muggle illusionist.

Ikililou then fumbled with the bags on his belt. The blossoms from the pond went into the mortar whose pestle proceeded to grind them by itself, while several bluish leaves he deposited into the smaller bowl and soaked them in boomslang venom.

After a minute, he mixed the contents of the two vessels in the larger bowl and sprinkled an ochre powder atop. He then poured in a generous measure of a pungent liquid from a bamboo flask sloshing at his belt and stirred vigorously. Harry dearly hoped he wouldn't make them drink the potion, or whatever it was. The brown sludge not only looked foul but was potentially lethal.

"Take off your shirts," Ikililou said, letting go of the rod.

Malfoy frowned. "Why?"

"So you don't become sea serpent food. Pah!" Ikililou pointed a gnarled finger at the bowl. "The paint loses potency every minute. Any more stupid questions, and it might not be enough to protect us."

Draco unbuttoned his sweat-stained shirt. "I'll go first."

Ikililou nodded and blew into his conch shell. His fingers moved over the aperture, producing wavering notes. When he removed the mouthpiece from his lips, the conch continued playing on its own.

Ikililou rested it atop the mat and picked up the brush. Dipping it into the bowl, he sketched a stylized octopus across Draco's right shoulder.

Malfoy's nose wrinkled. "Ugh, what's that smell?"

"Goat piss, mostly," Ikililou said.

Malfoy lurched away. "_Goat_—"

"Stop squirming, boy, or you'll regret it!"

Malfoy groaned and inched closer. The tip of Ikililou's brush unerringly found the unfinished octopus and traced its tentacles down Malfoy's chest. Reloading the brush, Ikililou started an array of S-shapes on the opposite side.

Malfoy turned away, looking like he was trying not to breathe through his nose. "Mr. Ikililou, I told you my name was Malfoy."

Ikililou's teeth flashed in the evening twilight. "Forgive me—Draco Malfoy is too difficult for a foreigner to pronounce," he said, pronouncing it perfectly.

Malfoy scowled and opened his mouth, then stilled as Ikililou wagged the brush at him. The conch continued its mournful melody, producing notes Ikililou hadn't played. Harry looked at it thoughtfully, then, spying something out of the corner of his eye, pivoted back to Malfoy. For an instant, he had seen a glowing tentacle worm into the squiggle Ikililou was painting on Malfoy's pale skin, but on a second look, the symbol appeared perfectly mundane.

Frowning, he closed his eyes and tried to tune out the conch, but its keen resonated in his very bones. Before he knew it, Ikililou spoke up.

"Done. No scratching!"

Malfoy rose from the mat with a long-suffering expression, his front a jumble of strange shapes and stylized sea creatures. Resigning himself to the same fate, Harry took off his shirt and his Horntail amulet.

Ikililou waved him lower. "Kneel, you great beanpole."

Harry assumed a dignified expression (as much as was possible given the stench stinging his nostrils) and allowed himself to be slathered with the dye. Did its ingredients _have_ to be so disgusting?

"This is old magic to turn away the evil eye," Ikililou murmured. "It will hide us, as it hid me the last time." He sidled behind Harry's back. "All I ask in return is that you do me a favor in the future. Are we agreed?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, crossing his fingers on principle. "I promised, didn't I?"

"Good." Ikililou whispered something so quietly Harry thought he might've imagined it.

The brush daubed the cool paste over his upper back, making him twitch and distracting him from his momentary suspicion. Despite the dense cover of the jungle he still managed to get sunburnt. Sunscreen charms weren't a part of the Hogwarts curriculum, if such things even existed, so he would have to protect his pasty skin better in the future.

After a few minutes, Ikililou announced he was done. Harry was reassured to see him peel off his T-shirt and put the brush to his own weathered skin: so this was no prank or trickery. He wondered what contortionist techniques Ikililou would employ to paint on his own back, but the paste ran out after he sketched the last concentric circle along his ribs. Unconcerned, Ikililou began tidying up.

Harry frowned. Upon a closer look, Malfoy did not have anything painted on that spot either. He began reaching for the back of his neck.

Ikililou clicked his tongue. "Smear the paint and the protection's gone!"

He hastily lowered his hand. Fastening the conch around his neck, Ikililou dragged the mat into the thicket. No hint of the strange ritual remained on the pristine beach except the stench that shortly dissipated in the wind.

Ikililou strolled to the canoe, hopped in, and groped around its rounded hull for the collapsible mast. Raising it with a huff, he fixed it in place and settled cross-legged in the back where a pole was attached to a rudder.

"Get this thing moving," he said, waving, "and be quick about it!"

Harry trotted over and planted his palms on the canoe's stern, but just as he began to push, it skidded into the water by itself. Stumbling forward with a splash, he turned around and glared at Draco, who had his wand out. "Thanks a bunch."

Malfoy's lips twitched. "Always happy to help." He propelled the canoe forward with another nonverbal Banishing Charm.

Ikililou hugged the steering pole. "Get on," he cried in their general direction. "Don't let the water wash off the paint!"

Lukewarm water lapped at Harry's knees as he waded up to the canoe. Grasping its gunwale, he clambered on and appropriated the front seat. A violent lurch made him curse and clutch the mast as Malfoy climbed in awkwardly from the middle. Ikililou snickered.

The ocean stretched endlessly before them, making Harry feel small and vulnerable. Even in this calm weather, their tiny vessel bobbed up and down, and there was a puddle under his feet. Hopefully, it had dripped off him and not seeped through a leak.

"Cast off!" Ikililou cried theatrically. "Raise the mainsail!"

Harry looked around before realizing the command was meant for him. "Um, come again?"

"Arr! Blasted landlubber, don't tell me it's your first time on a boat." Cackling, Ikililou extended a weathered finger. "Pull that rope."

Harry tugged a rope dangling from the mast, and an angled crossbar rose, unfurling a faded triangle-shaped sail. Tying the rope to a ring to keep it taut, he eyed the sail expectantly, but the fabric barely fluttered in the breeze.

"No wind," he observed.

Ikililou spat into the water. "Are you a sorcerer or not? If there's no wind, make some. "

Frowning, he fished his wand out from the bundle of clothes in his lap. "Vent—_mmphck_!"

Malfoy's clammy hands clamped over his mouth and slapped down his wand, its tip already aglow. "_Don't_!"

Harry's eyes widened and he pointed the infernal stick away. Despite him swallowing back the incantation, the spell had acquired a life of its own, pooling at the tip in a pulsating orb that glowed so brightly it hurt to look at. The stick began to smoke, and he shook it frantically until the orb detached and dropped into the water with a sizzling _plunk_.

He gave the wand a once-over, decided that the scorch was an improvement, and leaned over the edge. The orb sank slowly into the clear blue water—except it was now less an orb and more an _eyeball_ made of light. It swiveled around as if coming to terms with its existence, then sprouted some tentacles and undulated away.

"Heh, freaky," he commented.

Draco shuddered. "Potter, I implore you, don't use that thing in my presence unless absolutely necessary. I don't want you accidentally summoning another otherplanary horror."

"Oh, come one," he grumbled. "I do it once—_once_—and never hear the end of it." He glanced guardedly at Ikililou, but if the old fart was interested in the conversation, he didn't show it.

"Once is one time too many." Malfoy raised his wand at the sail. "Allow me. Ventus!"

The sail whipped out, and the boat lurched forward so abruptly the bow nearly dipped underwater. Harry's butt slid off his seat to land painfully on the bottom, and Draco didn't fare much better.

"Oh, well done," Ikililou said. "A little steadier, and keep it going for a couple of hours, if you please."

Malfoy slowly lowered his wand. "I... don't know how."

Ikililou gasped. "No, really? The state of wand sorcery continues to astound me. How did you graduate without knowing how to conjure a tailwind?"

"Why in the blazes would I need to conjure a tailwind in the middle of Wiltshire?" Malfoy ground out.

"You're no longer in Wiltshire, boy, so start learning."

Ikililou raised his conch to his lips and struck up a lively tune. The wind from the ocean ruffled Harry's hair and flapped the sail. As the tune went on, the wind reversed direction to blow from the land, and the sail snapped taut.

Ikililou let go of the conch, but even though the melody cut off, the wind continued blowing. With a creak of its mast, bobbing over the waves, the boat sailed off.

The sun was little more than a purple and orange haze over the horizon. The first stars winked on, and the crescent moon shone brighter, reflecting in the ocean. Harry lowered his hand and skimmed his fingers along the water. The air was getting a little too cool for comfort, but he didn't want to smudge Ikililou's handiwork by putting on his clothes.

Perched at the boat's stern, Ikililou would occasionally crane his neck, sniff the air, and produce a note on his conch. Whether that changed their course or strengthened the wind, Harry couldn't tell. The island bobbed behind them as it dissolved into the encroaching darkness. Soon only the glow of the dead volcano at its center remained visible over the horizon.

He glanced over his shoulder to the ocean stretching in front before facing his companions again. "I've been meaning to ask, but where exactly are we?"

Ikililou waved vaguely. "Miles northeast of an island the No-maj call Mauritius."

Harry nodded sagely, not having the faintest clue where that was, then leaned to whisper to Malfoy. "Ever heard of a magical settlement around these parts?"

Malfoy shook his head mutely.

He raised his eyebrows. "So much for the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Just because I work there doesn't mean I know every nook and cranny in the world settled by renegade wizards," Malfoy said. "For the most part, we communicate with other ICW members—civilized countries with stable governments."

A snort from Ikililou drew their attention. "The island is a sanctuary from zealous bureaucrats and stifling regulations. What would be the point if every busybody knew how to find it?"

Harry looked around the dark ocean once more. "And our destination? Is it far from here?"

Ikililou hummed. "Direction and distance are meaningless when it comes to that place. A cartographer attempting to plot its location would be driven to tears... It doesn't matter where you start your journey as long as you have the right approach." He brought the conch to his lips, his milky eyes narrowing. "You'll see, yes, very soon... Silence now—and keep your wands sheathed, if you value your lives."

A reverberating note from the conch sent a shiver down Harry's spine. The sail went slack. The rocking of the canoe that had accompanied the voyage ceased, and silence descended, so deep he could hear his companions' breathing: shallow and anxious before him, slow and steady farther to the back. He craned his neck, but there was nothing in sight except starry sky and its reflection in the mirror-like ocean.

Tendrils of mist crept over the water, rising and thickening before his eyes until he couldn't see farther than a few yards. Swallowing, he gripped the wand atop the clothes in his lap, then recalled Ikililou's warning and forced his fingers to unclench. They were quite literally in the same boat, and he had no choice but to trust him.

Exhaling, he closed his eyes. With little to distract him, a state of heightened awareness came readily, and with it, a sensation of being smothered in cotton wool from all sides. It was as impenetrable as the fog had been to his eyes.

Drawing his awareness to himself, he couldn't help but gasp. The blazing markings on his skin extended beyond two dimensions to form bizarre animals and impossible geometrical configurations. He examined a segmented serpent coiled around the back of his neck, then the fluorescent seahorses dancing across his ribs. The animals turned in unison and regarded him with something akin to sardonic amusement. His breathing quickened and his hand jerked to his chest, coming just short of scrubbing at the paint.

The seahorses cackled in a manner disturbingly similar to Ikililou's. Harry flinched and opened his eyes. The symbols on his chest became, once again, little more than flaking ochre paint, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

He cast his gaze around the fog to distract himself. Tiny waves lapped at the canoe's hull. Frowning, he glanced over the edge and was gripped by a sudden fear. Perhaps because of the vestiges of his heightened awareness, he could swear something lurked in the dark depths below, something colossal and furious and _so hungry_...

He pivoted toward Ikililou. "Something's—"

Ikililou raised a finger to his lips. His milky gaze was sharp and piercing.

Harry clammed up. A pulse went through the water, and the canoe swayed. Despite the lack of wind, the ripples intensified by the second. Gripping the gunwale, he nervously looked around. Before him, Malfoy hunched his shoulders and cradled his wand.

The boat rocked violently as something dark and enormous breached the surface in a spray of foam. A gigantic serpentine head burst upward, dousing them with water running off its mottled green-and-black hide. Its spiny neck rose higher and higher until he had to tilt his head back to take it all in. Malfoy whimpered.

The serpent gurgled and lowered its muzzle to behold the canoe with a pitch-black eye. Rows of wicked teeth jutted along its jaws. Harry held his breath, as much out of fear as a horrendous stench of rot. Pausing a mere arm's length away, so close the billowing whiskers alongside its nostrils almost brushed his hair, the serpent inhaled deeply. He raised his wand, but his chest suddenly itched so badly he _had_ to claw at it for relief.

The serpent drew back, opened its toothy maw wide, and sneezed, splattering gobs of foul-smelling goo over the canoe. Shaking its head, the creature snorted loudly and sank with a splash. Ripples ran along the surface until everything became tranquil.

Exhaling loudly, Harry lifted his robes to wipe his face and grimaced when he got a faceful of serpent snot for his trouble. It stank even worse than Ikililou's paint, and that was saying something.

A snicker came from Ikililou, and squinting through his smeared glasses, Harry saw that the stern of the canoe had been mysteriously spared the deluge of snot. He opened his mouth to ask how, then closed it, not wanting to be made fun of again.

Ikililou's crooked grin widened, and he blew gently into his conch. The fog roiled as a breeze picked up, and the boat began gliding along the smooth surface. Only the sloshing of water and the slime dripping onto the deck from the sodden sail broke the eerie silence.

Malfoy's seat creaked as he shifted his weight and waved his wand furiously to scour off the gunk. Harry sent him a pleading look and nodded his gratitude when his skin was scrubbed, leaving it pink and raw but delightfully clean. The paint had come off too, but Ikililou did not seem concerned.

More notes resounded, terse and discordant, and the canoe swerved erratically. The fog thinned and jagged rocks jutting out of the water all around came into sight. A dark shape towered ahead, still shrouded by the mist.

Under Ikililou's manipulations of the rudder, the canoe weaved between the rocks, following a path only he knew. The fog dispersed until the moon cast its ghostly light upon a tremendous mountain rising out of the ocean ahead, its nearly vertical face dappled with tenacious greenery. A gloomy cavern loomed in its middle like the maw of a beast so great it could have swallowed the sea serpent itself.

Typically, the spooky cave was exactly where they were headed. Harry peered ahead trying to penetrate the darkness, but either there wasn't enough light or something was interfering with the enchantments on his spectacles.

The hull scraped an underwater rock, and the canoe wobbled. Perspiration beaded Ikililou's wrinkled brow, and his tune grew frantic. Harry inspected the bottom for damage, then eyed the waters ahead and gulped. A row of jagged rocks with hardly any space between barred the cavern's mouth.

Ikililou summoned a powerful gust of wind that sent them skimming along the surface and leaned on the rudder. The canoe listed so low the crossbar of the mast dipped into the water. Harry cried out, clutching his clothes with one hand and holding on with the other. He was certain they were about to keel over, yet before he knew it, they slipped past the tooth-like rocks and into the cavern. The boat creaked upright and slowed to a drift.

The darkness proved no obstacle to Ikililou, who steered with slight turns of the rudder. A faint chirp of crickets entered their ears, and as the boat rounded a corner, a moonlit beach with dense jungle stretching beyond it came into view. Emerging from the shadow of the cavern, the canoe came to rest on the sand.

Ikililou clapped, the sound startlingly loud in the night. "That concludes my part. Get off my boat, off you go."

Harry braced against the canoe's side and clambered out. The ground felt wobbly beneath his feet. Draco appeared to have similar troubles after he disembarked with the same lack of grace.

The stuffy air rang with the sounds of frogs and crickets. Jungle encroached on the small beach in the front, and a great wall of rock that screened this haven of nature from the ocean stretched in the back. Standing on the small strip of sand between, it was difficult to gauge the size of the bowl-shaped island.

Harry dropped his voice. "This whole place belongs to the cultists, then?"

Ikililou vaulted over the gunwale and onto the beach. "As much as a relic of times long past can belong to someone born in this century—although I doubt they would appreciate that argument." He pushed the canoe back into the water with high-pitched grunts.

"Wait," Draco said slowly, "how are we supposed to get out of here after Potter's done?"

"Not my problem, is it, boy?" Ikililou climbed into the boat. "Build yourself a raft for all I care. The guardian shouldn't interfere with anyone trying to leave."

Realizing he hadn't quite thought this through, Harry waded into the foamy surf. "Couldn't you come back to pick us up—say, tomorrow evening?"

"That wasn't our deal. Forgive me if I don't linger—not the friendliest folk, Mara's followers." Ikililou worked the rudder, turning the canoe around. "Until next time, Harry Potter."

A lively note rang out, and the wind began pushing the canoe into the cavern. Harry trailed it with his gaze, then glanced helplessly to Malfoy.

Scowling, Malfoy aimed his wand. "Accio boat!"

The canoe juddered and halted, but Malfoy's victory was short-lived because the wind suddenly picked up and blasted sand into their faces. Harry sputtered and shielded his eyes; when the gale died down, there was only darkness and an echo of a cackle.

Malfoy kicked at the sand. "Damn it! I hope you're happy, Potter!"

Forcing his gaze away from the cavern, Harry considered the dark jungle. "We'll see." It hadn't been the smoothest journey or the most pleasant one, but he was finally in the lair of the bastards who had attacked his home and hurt Su.


	23. Snake Cult, Part 4

They slept at the edge of the jungle under the cover of Draco's magic. Morning came quickly, bringing the usual clamor of birds and merciless sun. Harry glared blearily at the brightening sky, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to get a few more minutes of rest. The gloomy London weather seemed a blessing in comparison to this.

A soft splashing joined the murmur of the surf, and he cracked open his eyes to look for the source. A little ways along the beach, a dark-skinned figure waded into the shallows. He shook Malfoy's shoulder.

Malfoy groaned. "What is it?"

"Quiet," he hissed. "We have company."

Malfoy propped himself up on an elbow, his grey eyes darting around before focusing on the stranger. Lanky and narrow-shouldered—a teenager, not yet a man—he waded along the shore clutching a spear in one hand and an amulet in the other. Suddenly, he plunged the spear into the water. When he pulled it out, a large fish was flopping impaled on its barbed end. He slipped it into a sack at his waist and brandished his amulet in the direction of the cavern connecting to the ocean.

As the fisherman drew closer to their little warded hideout, Harry tensed and searched for traces of their disembarking, but the sand all looked the same to him. With any luck, Ikililou's wind will have covered their tracks.

"Now what?" Malfoy whispered.

Harry licked his lips. "We could knock the kid out and interrogate him."

"Forget it. I'm _not_ antagonizing these people if I can help it."

Harry fumbled for his rough wand before thinking better of it. Splattering the brat's brains over the beach wasn't exactly his goal. "Fine, then we'll follow him and snoop around. Can you hide us?"

Grumbling under his breath, Draco rapped his wand atop Harry's head with more force than was strictly necessary. Harry critically inspected his semi-transparent hands. Far from his own charmwork as it was, it would have to do.

"Go easy on the second flick next time," he whispered. "Talking from experience."

"And they call Slytherins sneaky," Malfoy said, fading from sight.

"You'd understand if you were as famous—he's leaving! C'mon."

The fisherman deposited a third fish into his sack, laid his spear atop his shoulder, and made a beeline for the jungle. Harry jogged along its edge to catch up. A twig cracked under his foot; the fisherman whirled around and lifted his amulet.

Harry froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The fisherman's gaze passed over him twice before he spat on the ground and strode off into the jungle. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Malfoy was keeping up, Harry hastened after him.

The fisherman didn't look back once as he followed a narrow but well-trodden path. The jungle soon grew sparser, and they arrived at a cluster of round huts painted with colorful geometric symbols. Behind the village, an overgrown stone building peeked through the trees.

The fisherman raised a hand in greeting to a younger boy feeding sticks into a crackling fire. The brats hissed at each other as they cleaned the fish, the shrill noises at odds with their companionable grins. When a dappled brown snake slithered out of the jungle and fearlessly approached them, the boys laughed and tossed it some fish guts. Harry swallowed and glanced around to make sure no snakes were lurking in the grass.

A shriveled prune of a woman staggered out of one of the huts. Harry's jaw sagged, but not nearly as low as the woman's... _ahem_. At first glance, she might've looked frail and harmless, but she was clearly a terrible villain: any virtuous person her age would've had the decency not to prance around topless. His opinion was reinforced when the boy respectfully lent his shoulder to support her toward the fire and she hissed in Parseltongue.

Invisible feet trampled the grass beside him. "Merlin's beard," Malfoy murmured, "that's disturbing."

He nodded. "I know, right?"

"Do you think she's part snake or something?"

He glanced at Malfoy's translucent figure. "What?"

"Her eyes," Malfoy said. "What else?"

He squinted at the crone and did a double-take: her eyes shone an unnatural yellow and her pupils were black slits. "Oh, yeah. That's what I meant."

"Not to mention, every last one of them is a Parselmouth. This lends credence to the rumors I told you about. I don't like this, not one bit. Stuck on an inescapable island with a bunch of freaks..." Malfoy's fingers clutched his shirt. "Call your familiar."

"Not until I get what I came here for." He watched the trio partake in breakfast with envy. Villains had to eat too, he supposed. "Let's sneak past them. I want to check out that place." He gestured at the stone building before recalling Draco couldn't see him. "It might be where they hide their plunder."

Not giving Malfoy the opportunity to object, he crept off along the boundary of the village, keeping an eye out on the trio by the fire. When he glanced back, he was heartened to see a slight shimmer behind. Neither he nor Draco spoke until they were across the village and hidden from sight by a hut on its opposite side.

"Did you _have_ to pick the most sinister-looking place to poke your nose in?" Malfoy whispered. "The fact that you managed to survive till now astounds me."

Harry eyed the immense stone building looming through the trees. To be fair, it did look somewhat imposing. "But I did, didn't it? That means it's in your best interest to stick with me."

"Stuck on an island with a bunch of freaks," Malfoy lamented, "and my only way out is the worst one of the lot."

Grinning, Harry checked if the locals were still gathered around the fire before tiptoeing onward. A stepped pyramid of timeworn stone came into sight, covered in ivy and slightly tilted due to its foundation sinking into the soil. A staircase was built into one of its sides.

"Go for the stairs," he mouthed in Malfoy's general direction.

Approaching the pyramid, he tilted his head back. Glyphs were carved into the almost-vertical stepped walls, rendered illegible by vegetation and the elements. Between the writings, depictions of naga wielding tridents and scepters were mixed in. His gaze lingered on a better-preserved carving of a snake woman until Malfoy bumped into his back.

"Watch it, Potter!"

"Shh," he hissed. "Let's go up."

"That's what I was trying to do before you decided to gawk."

"Just being cautious like you wanted." He had a feeling Malfoy was scowling. "We wouldn't want to stumble into some sacrificial ceremony."

Peering down at the weathered steps, he carefully climbed to the pyramid's summit. The large rectangular platform at the top was carved with great concentric circles, the space between filled densely with glyphs. Beyond the circles stood a roofed entrance that rose above the treetops. It wasn't quite a bird's eye view, but he could see dense jungle extend all the way to the rock barrier surrounding the island.

He glanced at the smoke rising from the village and crept toward the entrance. Stone serpents framed the shadowy doorway, their eyeless sockets judging him from above. A smell of mildew wafted from inside.

A whisper drifted to his ears. "Potter?"

"Here," he said, trying to see Malfoy without success. "Let's look inside."

"Have you got a death wish?" Draco's voice came closer. "If you don't care about your own life, at least have the decency to send me home first."

He rolled his eyes. "Where's your sense of adventure? This looks like a place full of treasure and ancient artifacts."

"Then that's the last place I want to be in. I don't know about you, but I'm no Curse-Breaker."

"Relax." Harry stuck his head into the passage. The stairs leading down were worn in the middle. "It looks used, frequently at that. Must be a temple or some such. Come on, just a peek."

Draco sighed exasperatedly. "It's your funeral. I'm staying well behind."

Snorting, Harry braced a palm against the wall and ventured into the darkness. When his glasses adjusted, he saw the stairs end and the passage turn ninety degrees just ahead. The seams where the walls met the floor and the ceiling were rounded, lending the corridor a cave-like impression. There were carvings too, in much better shape than outside, and as he halted before a serpentine glyph, he recalled at last why they looked so familiar.

"I've seen these before," he said quietly. "Back in the merpeople village in the Black Lake, there was this pillar..."

"In _Scotland_?" Malfoy whispered from behind. "Are you certain?"

He wiped the grime off the glyph with the heel of his palm. "Positive."

"What does it mean?"

He shrugged. "Not a damn clue."

Malfoy groaned. "Full of useless trivia as usual. I should've known."

Harry blindly threw a light punch and grinned when it connected with something fleshy. "Watch it, or I won't mention you when they laud me for discovering this place."

"We need to get home before your delusions have any chance of coming true." Malfoy fell silent for a moment. "Is it safe to make light, do you reckon? How come you can see in here, anyway?"

"I have my ways," he said smugly. "Just follow along. I'll warn you if there are any more stairs."

Turning a rounded corner, he took in the hallway ahead. Fading frescoes of naga and humans in scenes of bloodshed interspersed the glyphs on the walls. A battle... no, a _war_. Scores of naga fell to beams erupting from the staves of cruel-faced men who wore breastplates decorated with stylized depictions of the sun. Other humans wielded tridents and fought on the side of the naga, who launched hurricane winds and torrents of water at their foes.

He inched forth, swiveling his head left and right. Vast underwater cities fell to the sun warriors' armies, their swords and staves slaughtering naga and men alike. Seven crowned naga atop of a serpentine spire raised their scepters and worked a grand ritual. Continents fractured and the sea swallowed the sun warriors' homeland, but the naga sorcerers too perished with hateful sneers etched on their faces. A lone human clutching a golden scepter fled the crumbling spire.

So engrossed was Harry in his study that only Draco's whispered warning made him aware of the gradual brightening of the surroundings. He halted in his tracks. A dozen steps ahead, the hallway connected to a chamber lit by a dim flickering light.

He pressed himself to the wall and crept onward, his heart pounding in his ears. Holding his breath, he stuck his head out into the chamber.

A handful of guttering candles illuminated a low stone altar in the back and the three jade statuettes atop it. Before them knelt a pale man wearing black robes embellished with pentagrams. Elaborate columns in the likeness of serpents held up the ceiling, and more frescoes adorned the walls. A passage on the opposite side of the chamber was blocked by a cave-in a few yards in.

Exhaling slowly, Harry tried to make out the features of the worshiper. Calling this place a temple had been nothing but a wild guess, but it was more than likely correct.

A sharp intake of breath came from an arm's reach away. "That's the man I dueled," Malfoy whispered. "I'd recognize those kitschy robes anywhere."

Harry's lips stretched into a savage grin. "Fancy getting back at him? Knock the bloke out, and we'll drag him away and ask him some questions."

"Your mind is terribly one-track, anyone ever tell you that?" Draco said.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a wuss?" he retorted. "How else are we supposed to get to the bottom of this?"

Silence reigned for a minute, only broken by the indistinct mumbles of the worshiper.

"You'll be the death of me, Potter," Draco whispered. "Fine. Be ready when I take him out."

"Knew you had it in you." Harry tried to clap his invisible shoulder but instead cuffed his ear. "Go get him."

A barely-there shimmer edged into the chamber. As Harry warily watched the cultist before the altar, the jade figurines glinting in the candlelight trapped his gaze. His field of vision narrowed until only the sleek female forms remained, so realistic it felt they were about to come alive. Something brushed his consciousness—pleading, promising—and he opened up before realizing what he was doing.

Serpentine spires stretched from the bottom of the ocean as far as the eye could see... A trio of spectral naga, identical save for the emotion etched into their faces, circled him in a dizzying whirl of aquamarine hair and sinuous curves... Their mouths opened in a snarling demand... _The last piece. The last piece. The last piece! Where_?

"I don't know!" he cried, but no sound came from his lips. "I don't have it!"

The specters hissed and sank their claws into his flesh. Gasping, he staggered backward into the dim hallway. The statuettes atop the altar rattled, and the cultist whirled around. His wide eyes roved over the entrance as he spoke first in Parseltongue, then in a foreign language.

Harry retreated into the shadows, running his fingers over where the chill of the claws lingered, yet finding no damage. The statuette at the edge of the altar teetered before clattering to the floor; crying out, the cultist knelt and cradled it in his lap. Harry halted and gripped his mockery of a wand as he waited for Malfoy to knock the man out.

The cultist crooned something as he stroked the figurine's curves. Observing with morbid fascination, Harry flinched when someone invisible seized his upper arm.

"We're leaving," Malfoy hissed, and dragged him bodily the way they came.

"Why didn't you take him out?" he demanded in an undertone. "It was the perfect chance!"

"He is still of use to her," Malfoy said as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

"What? No, seriously—_what_?" They rounded a corner and were bathed in sunlight streaming through the exit above. Harry dug in his feet. "Slow down! Who's _her _and why would you care?"

"Anyone sane would, fool! Her suffering must not be allowed..." Malfoy trailed off before adding in a less-assured voice, "What in the blazes just happened?"

"That's what _I'd_ like to know." He glanced back to make sure the cultist wasn't following and dragged Malfoy up the stairs. "What came over you?"

"I... I don't know. Something down there must've wormed into my head." Malfoy shuddered. "Merlin's beard, what have you gotten us into?"

"Pull yourself together." Stepping out into the sun, Harry glanced at the shadowy passage, then at Malfoy. Perhaps they could make another go at it. "You any good at Occlumency?"

"How do you know—never mind." Malfoy shifted on his feet. One could still see the trees through his translucent figure, but the distortions in the air gave away its shape; the Disillusionment Charm was giving out. "My Occlumency's decent, but there's no way I'm going back. Those things aren't natural."

Harry fixed him with a stare that no doubt lost its effect due to him being invisible, then heaved a sigh. Perhaps this was for the best. With any luck, the cultist would think it had been a wild animal or something. "Then let's get out of here before that kook decides to crawl out of his cave."

Casting glances over their shoulders, they descended the stairs and stepped onto soft jungle soil. The path to their right led to the village, while the one to the left disappeared between thickening trees. They went left. Malfoy remained quiet for a time, but as they put more distance between themselves and the temple, he regained his pluck.

"If he's a kook, what does that make _you_, Potter?"

He furrowed his brows. "What are you on about?"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed. The man cradled that thing exactly like you did your toys. Bloody creepy is what it is."

He gasped indignantly. "You take that back! How dare you compare me, an aficionado of the fine arts, to that lunatic?"

Draco made a choking noise. "Fine arts? Is that what you call those dolls in your room?" He laughed, but it sounded forced.

"You're a cultureless swine who can't appreciate true beauty." A smirk replaced Harry's frown. "At least not while sober. I recall you getting cuddly with a certain lamia in my bedroom—still have the photos too."

"Lamia? Oh, _that_." Draco stumbled a little. "Did you say photos? You'll destroy them if you know what's good for you!"

He snorted. "Just be glad I didn't owl them to Astoria like I intended. Imagine the heartbreak the poor woman would go through if she saw you rubbing your cheek on those crimson scales... That wasn't cool, by the way."

"My wife is an intelligent woman," Malfoy scoffed. "She wouldn't get upset about me hugging a pillow."

Harry's grin wavered, but he pressed on. "Is that doubt I hear? Don't worry, I won't send them to her _now_. I'll wait until you make it big in the Ministry and use them to blackmail you whenever I need a favor."

"That's ridiculous, Potter. If you think a silly thing like that would hold any sway over me, you're even more delusional than I thought." Malfoy ducked under an overhanging branch. "Seriously, though—you were lying about taking photos, right?"

Smirking, he was about to respond, but the wind suddenly picked up, whistling in his ears and tugging at his clothes. He barely shielded his face before the wind died in a clap of displaced air. Where there was an empty path now stood an unfortunately familiar trio: the woman with a scar across her neck and her burly cronies Snake-Face and Plait.

Harry clamped a palm over his mouth and inched back, but Malfoy turned on his heel, and instead of vanishing into thin air, staggered with a groan. Scar's eyes narrowed, and raising a bracelet to her mouth, she blew on a dangling charm. A muggy breeze engulfed Harry, and he could suddenly see his limbs again.

The five goggled at one another before Scar gave a commanding hiss. Surprise hadn't yet left the faces of the enemy men, but they were already swinging their blowpipes off their muscular backs.

"I hold you no ill will!" Draco cried, raising one hand peaceably but fumbling for his wand with the other.

Harry didn't bother with diplomacy and jabbed his wand at the men. "Expelliarmus!"

The scarlet jet traced a meandering path through the air before impacting a blowgun and not doing a thing. Snake-Face's cheeks ballooned with breath as he pressed the blowpipe to his lips, but it suddenly sprouted buds and twigs, causing him to fumble his shot.

Encouraged, Harry dished out more Disarming Charms. The scaly mantle he hit attempted to slither off Plait's shoulders, but it proved too little a distraction. When Plait pointed his weapon at Harry, he instinctively shielded, but the practiced wand motion instead produced an overwhelming smell of citrus air freshener.

Draco stepped forth and jabbed his wand. "Depulso!"

Plait dropped the blowpipe and clutched at his throat, the tip of the dart sticking out his mouth.

"Nice!" Harry cried, following up with a Stunning Charm that made the man sprout orange fur. The stick in his hand was growing uncomfortably hot.

"Shut up!" Draco petrified Snake-Face, who rushed at them swinging his germinating blowpipe. "All your fault!" A whip of his wand made the man dangle in the air by his ankle, exposing more of his physique than Harry was comfortable with. "Run!"

Pivoting, they sprinted back the way the came. The path narrowed as it twisted through the jungle, and no matter how far they ran, the temple wouldn't come into sight. To make matters worse, a backward glance revealed the cultists hard on their heels.

Malfoy leapt over a jutting tree root. "What's happening?"

"I don't—" Harry looked back, and his eyes widened. Snake-Face's body elongated as he dived to the ground, becoming an enormous black-headed python whose speed belied its size. "Watch out!"

Glancing back, Malfoy thrust his wand over his shoulder, and the path behind exploded. Harry added his hexes, and although they did little but splash the dirt with fluorescent colors, the python hissed and slithered off into the jungle. The path they were following narrowed further, and the greenery clung tenaciously to their limbs. A faint buzz entered his ears.

"You hear that?" he gasped out.

"Hear _what_?" Malfoy snapped, slicing the vines barring their way.

"It's like..." Harry whimpered as a swarm of bees emerged from the thicket. "Shit!"

He brandished his wand, and _for once_, it produced the flames he wanted, yet they passed through the insects doing them no harm. Then the swarm was upon him, clouding his vision, buzzing in his ears, poisoned stingers ready to sink into his flesh. Lurching back, he flailed his arms. "Get them off! Get them off me!"

Malfoy spared him a glance, then swore and fended off a blowdart from behind. "What are you _doing_?"

Harry's panicked scream was cut short when a bee crawled into his mouth. Choking and slapping at his face, he sank to his knees. Out of the corner of his watering eyes, he could see Malfoy face the nearing cultists—but why wasn't he _helping_?

He braced his trembling hands against the ground. Black-and-yellow stripes covered every inch of his skin, myriads of tiny feet crawling up his arms and shoulders and neck and face and wriggling up his nostrils and tangling in his hair—and all he could do was whimper because moving would provoke them into stinging him to death. His head spun as he hyperventilated, barely registering Malfoy's yells. His fading gaze landed on the cultists, who approached at an almost leisurely pace. Scar walked behind her lackey, her lips moving unceasingly as she held up a beaded amulet...

Realization jolted through him, and he parted his lips to draw in a deep breath. A dozen bees crawled in, wriggling and buzzing inside his mouth. He bit down with a crunch, swallowed, and grinned.

Scar's eyes widened, her lips stilled, and just like that, the illusion vanished.

"Potter! _Potter_!" Malfoy trained his wand at the encroaching jungle, where the enormous python was slithering around. Of the path they had followed, not a gap in the trees remained. "What's wrong?"

"The amulet," he said weakly, scooping up his wand from the grass.

Malfoy's gaze flicked forward. "Accio!"

The cord around Scar's neck snapped and the amulet sailed into Draco's extended hand. With an angry hiss, she reached for the charms hanging from her bracelets.

"Oh no you don't," Harry growled, rising to his feet. Snatching the amulet from Draco, he brandished it at the cultists. "Aha!"

Scar and Plait cowered, then exchanged a baffled look. Harry shook the amulet, making the carved beads dangling from it clink against each other but producing no effect.

Scar's lips parted to release a raspy noise that took him several seconds to recognize as laughter. She plucked something from her bracelet and threw it. The missile fell before Harry's feet, and the ground trembled and erupted in stony spikes; stumbling back more by accident than purpose was the only thing that saved him from getting skewered.

"Protego!" Malfoy cried. A serpentine shadow erupted from the jungle, and the head of the massive python bounced off the shield.

Harry flinched away and clenched the amulet reflexively, then glanced at it in wonder. An engraved scarlet pebble was almost scalding to the touch, whereas a translucent blue bead made his skin tingle. Stowing his wand, he ran his fingers over the charms.

Another bead from Scar hit the shield, spreading cracks from the site of impact until it shattered. Harry yanked the scarlet pebble off the amulet and threw it with all his might. Arcing through the air, it skidded on the grass before the cultists and detonated in a plume of flames.

He whooped. "Handle the defense!"

Tearing off beads by the handful, he tossed them at the enemy. Fountains of water spewed out, the earth fissured, and the jungle around the path surged toward the cultists in a green tsunami, only to shrivel when Scar rattled her bracelet. Sneering, she cast a charm that burst into flames mid-air, but Harry conjured a wind and redirected the ball of fire into the jungle. His lips quirked at her frustrated expression.

"Take this!" He twisted off a carved bone that was secured to the amulet more solidly than the rest and flung it. The lightweight charm fell short of reaching the two cultists, yet they shrank back nonetheless.

The soil underneath it ruptured, and a spine of sun-whitened bones burst out, followed by the rest of a skeletal predator with too many teeth in its jaw. The beast raised its head in a silent roar that made goosebumps erupt on Harry's skin. Necromancy wasn't his shtick, but he was never one to look a gift monster in the mouth.

"Attack!" he commanded, pointing at Scar.

The beast turned to her and clicked its well-preserved teeth, but she rattled her beads, and it whirled around to lunge toward him and Malfoy.

"Not _me_, you bloody—" Eyeing the rapidly approaching abomination, he scooted behind Draco. "Help!"

"Confringo!" A burst of orange shattered the beast to pieces. "No more Dark magic, Potter!"

Harry breathed easier until he saw the scattered bones roll along the grass to pull themselves together. Malfoy's wand whipped left and right, reducing them to dust before they could reassemble.

At the sound of snapping twigs, Harry whirled around to find the python pouncing with its needle-like teeth bared. Yelping, he leapt back and tossed his remaining charms into its maw. A violent spasm rippled through its sinuous body, and it morphed back into a human, who clawed at his throat as frothing mud sprayed from his mouth. A crimson jet of light from Malfoy laid him out cold. Harry discarded the used-up amulet, drew his wand, and faced the two remaining cultists.

Plait assessed the situation, and propping his blowpipe against his shoulder, dashed off into the jungle. Harry and Draco launched hexes after him, but Scar blocked them with an earthen barrier; by the time Malfoy blew it up, showering her with dirt, Plait was gone.

Keeping an eye out on the jungle, Harry advanced on Scar. She fingered the charms on her bracelets as her dark eyes alternated between him and Malfoy until she deftly hurled a blue pebble.

A swish of Malfoy's wand banished it backward, where it encased the path behind her in ice. Harry pelted her with jinxes, trying to make up with speed for only half of them materializing from his wand. Staggering back, Scar tossed a pebble that ballooned into a boulder and blocked his haphazard attacks.

There was a hiss of released air, and Harry ducked. A dart whizzed past his ear to embed itself into a tree.

Malfoy whirled toward where it had come from. "Confringo!"

The blast shattered a tree, and wooden shrapnel lanced in every direction. Harry yelped as a sharp sliver buried itself in his thigh; his cry was echoed by a louder one within the jungle. Pulling out the sliver, he tossed it away.

"Smoke him out," he told Malfoy. "I'll take care of her."

Deafening explosions shook the jungle as Draco took to the task with zeal. Harry flung his malformed hexes at Scar and gradually stalked closer in hopes of actually landing one.

She brought a reddish pebble to her lips and blew; a cone of flame burst forth. He flattened himself to the ground, but she steered the flames lower, and his back sizzled under the heat. Rolling, he blindly launched jinx after jinx until the fire vanished and he saw her tap-dancing madly as her legs thrashed out of her control.

He sprang up and aimed his crooked wand. Gritting her teeth, Scar twisted off a greyish charm and threw it just as he launched a violet jet of light. The hex impacted the pebble mid-air, causing it to hover in place and emit a hum. Purple sparks cascaded from it and fizzled on the grass.

Scar's wide-eyed look suggested that wasn't the normal outcome, but before either of them could turn tail, the hum rose to a crescendo, and the pebble detonated in blinding purple flash. The blast pushed him back a step, leaving his hair standing on end and his nose stinging from an acrid smell.

He squinted through the bright spots in his vision. Scar was rubbing her eyes as she slowly rose to her feet, her mantle askew and her loincloth hiked up. He leered. If it were just a little higher...

"Ow." A fiery pain had him staring dumbly at a thistle-fletched dart that had embedded itself in his shoulder. He giggled. "So _that's_ what she meant."

The world lurched, and he crumpled to the ground, barely feeling any pain from the fall, or indeed anything but a spreading numbness. Scar's bangle-adorned legs drew closer. One foot reared and came to meet his face.


	24. Snake Cult, Part 5

Cacophonous bird calls. Stifling heat. Buzzing insects. Consciousness returned slowly but relentlessly. With consciousness came a throbbing in his temples and a dull ache throughout his body that made him long for the feverish oblivion.

He cracked open his left eye and squinted against the glare. His right didn't work, and when he tried to roll away from the sunlight, he discovered that his limbs didn't either. A blurry lattice of shadows across something red-brown loomed before him. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what he was looking at.

He ran his tongue over his crusty lips, and inhaling deeply, forced his head to turn. The muscles of his neck contracted, and his head rolled, strangely out of his control, until settling with his face up.

A rectangular patch of azure sky shone above a wooden grating. The world reoriented itself. He was lying at the bottom of a pit about as deep as he was tall. His pulse raced, and he struggled to rise, but only managed a feeble wriggle.

Exhaling, he took stock of the situation. His glasses, unbroken if askew, were still perched atop his stuffy nose, and he had his shirt and trousers on. His left arm was numb, and when he swiveled his eyes, he saw that his sleeve was punctured around the shoulder and soaked with blood. The arm itself was wedged awkwardly under him.

He spent minutes twisting side-to-side to extricate it, then gulped down air as he welcomed the pins and needles that accompanied the return of sensation. If he was simply tossed in here as he suspected, he had been lucky not to break any bones.

Having caught his breath, he pushed himself backward with his hands and feet until his head propped against the side of the pit and he could take a better look at his lodgings. Earthen walls, roots sticking out of reddish soil, a fat centipede scurrying across the bottom—and, on the opposite side, a hunched figure.

"Malfoy." His voice came out hoarse. "Malfoy, you alive?"

Malfoy remained still, blond hair splayed on the ground, face pallid and flecked with mud. The centipede approached his cheek, poked it with its feelers, then reared and climbed on.

Harry clawed at the clayish soil as he strained to rise; the lid of his right eye snapped open with an almost audible rip. "Oi! Geroff!"

All he got for his effort was a bout of dizziness. Sagging, he panted for air and blinked the crumbs of what was probably dried blood out of his watering eye. Malfoy was only passed out, he had to be. It wouldn't make sense to imprison a corpse.

After his heart stopped pounding, he gingerly pushed himself up a little higher. "Malfoy, wake up. I'll doodle on your face again, don't think I won't—"

A shadow fell over him, and he lifted his gaze to find a muscular man crouching by the edge of the wooden lattice to peer inside. His face was tattooed with scales and missing the tip of his nose. Tenacious bugger.

Harry forced a grin that faltered when his lips cracked painfully. "Are you responsible for these accommodations, mate? If so, I'd like to lodge a complaint."

The cultist's mutilated face twisted in a sneer.

"Yeah, I don't think this place is structurally sound," Harry prattled, more out of nervousness than anything. "And when's dinner? It's against the law to starve prisoners, you know. Ever heard of the Geneva Conventions?"

Snake-Face rose and vanished as if never being there. An absurd hope that he had gone to fetch something to eat welled up inside Harry. Never mind food, he would've paid its weight in gold for a glass of water.

He stared at the bars overhead for minutes, but Snake-Face didn't return. Sighing, he rested his eyes. His pulse thumped in his ears. He couldn't so much as stand, and if Su's condition was any indication, he wouldn't be able to for days. Even then, he had no wand, and the island was warded against magical transportation. How was he going to get out?

He blinked at the earthen wall. Did he not have a familiar who could come to him regardless of distance? Had he been able to move, he would've slapped his forehead—but perhaps it was for the best he couldn't. His brain felt swollen enough as it was.

Closing his eyes, he called Firo, already imagining the captors' faces when they came back to an empty pit. Opening an eye, he glanced around before trying again. A clear mind... Never mind the captors... Warm, golden flames...

"Useless bird," he muttered. All that thinking about fire only made him sweat.

He drifted off, checking his surroundings whenever the noises of the jungle grew loud enough to rouse him from the jittery slumber. Shade crept up the walls of the pit, indicating an approaching evening, but it did little to reduce the sweltering heat.

He wasn't sure how many times he dozed off and woke up, but at some point, he opened his eyes to two silent figures looming over the pit. Swallowing dryly, he scrutinized them as they did the same to him.

The taller figure belonged to the worshiper from the temple. Somewhere along the way, he had donned a straw hat that looked ridiculous paired with his pentagram-decorated robes. His eyes gleamed under the shade of its wide brim and his tongue darted out regularly to moisten his lips.

At his side stood the woman with a scar across her throat. Unlike those of her companion, her dark eyes were looking down at him with nothing but cold contempt.

Harry's gaze drifted to her loincloth, and he brazenly tilted his head to get a better angle; if he ended up here because he tried to catch a peek, he would damn well get his money's worth. The view made his numb fingers stretch toward where his Warlock's Rod would hang off his belt. Not all rainforests were worth preserving.

"Awake already," said the man, making Harry relocate his gaze to less engaging sights. "You must be blessed by Mara herself to shake off the venom so quickly." He sent the woman a significant look.

"Huh?" Harry too glanced at Scar, but she had stepped back and was avoiding his eyes.

"I know who you are, Harry Potter, and why you are here," Straw-Hat continued in accented but smooth English. "You couldn't resist Her draw, could you? To witness Her glorious resurrection, perhaps even to have a hand in it... There's no higher honor in this world!"

Harry frowned; he had been meeting a lot of know-it-alls lately. "You're raving. I came here because you lot ransacked my house and hurt my girlfriend."

"Please, we have nothing to hide from each other." The man nudged the brim of his hat upward and peered at him earnestly. "We're brothers and sisters united in our great cause, and I _know_ you are one of us. Why else would you sleep with her likeness, crude as it is?

"Sleep with?" A stunning realization dawned on him. "It was you... You wanker! Return my waifu this instant!"

Straw-Hat cast him a sympathizing look. "Don't worry, I of all people understand the depth of your devotion. It wasn't long after a fragment of Her dreadful prison came into my possession that She began whispering to me, appearing in my dreams, then during the day, beckoning, pleading... I would do anything to end her unjust suffering..."

"Er..." Harry looked away from his fevered gaze. "Sure, pal, me too. How about you let me out so we can talk about how great She is, eh?"

A wide smile broke out on Straw-Hat's face. "Of course, brother, of course!" He turned to respond to Scar's speechlike hiss in kind, then looked at Harry. "Simply speak to us in the sacred tongue to prove you're one of Mara's faithful."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Straw-Hat peered at him expectantly. Scar met his eyes, crossed her arms, and hissed, jutting out her chin. Sweat beaded on his brow. The one time, _the_ _one bloody time_ that being a Parselmouth would come in handy...

"Potter?" Straw-Hat glanced at Scar. "Please understand, I can't convince my brothers and sisters otherwise."

"Um, one moment..." He racked his brain, but Parseltongue had come to him so naturally during his time as Voldemort's horcrux that memorizing the words never crossed his mind. The only sounds he could recall with any clarity were the ones he had taunted the basilisk with. He took a deep breath; it wasn't like he had much of a choice. "_Hissss, sssss... Shhsssss, hiss_."

Had the situation been less dire, he might've laughed at his captors' expressions. Straw-Hat in particular looked like a betrayed puppy, his hands clenching at the air.

Harry offered him a weak grin. "I might be a little rusty."

The words shook Straw-Hat out of his shock. "So the rumors of you being a Speaker were false! Just like the tales of your great exploits, I assume." He stepped onto the precariously creaking grating and glared down. "Make no mistake, you _will_ serve Her—as an offering if nothing else. Even that is more than you and your silent friend there deserve. Rot in here until She's ready to take you."

He spat at Harry—not very successfully, since most of it dribbled down his chin—and backpedaled onto solid ground. Scar gave that odd raspy laugh. Then they were gone, leaving Harry alone with his despondent thoughts.

Evening became night. He flitted in and out of sleep, fragments of bizarre dreams intruding on reality, until the rising sun cast its rays into the pit, and reality came back with a torrid vengeance. He clung to sleep as long as he could, but some bird kept cawing raucously outside, making him wish doom upon its entire kind.

He called Firo without success, then swore and sat up. Albeit still lethargic, he could move easier than yesterday. His nose was clogged, and his mouth tasted like something had died in it. Blocking one nostril with a thumb, he expelled a wad of mucus and coagulated blood. His cleared nose turned out to be more of a curse than a blessing because the air was thick with the stench of body waste.

He gazed across the pit to where Malfoy lay in the same pose as yesterday. Sun beat down on him and flies buzzed around his head. Harry crawled over, taking breaks every few feet, and tugged him into the shade.

Reddish clay caked one side of Malfoy's face, contrasting with his ashen skin. Harry put an ear to his lips and exhaled in relief when he felt more than heard him breathe. Swatting halfheartedly at a fly, he dragged himself back to his corner.

After taking a breather, he dug himself a cathole. The earth was damp and gave easily, but he couldn't put strength into his hands, and digging a few inches took what felt like hours, leaving him with sore muscles and chipped nails.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and sank his fingers into the soil once more. His nail caught on something and tore painfully. Wincing, he pressed it to his shirt and carefully dug one-handed around whatever had injured him.

What looked like a roundish stone emerged from the dirt, but upon prying it out, he saw that it was a yellowed bone, just small enough to fit in his palm. He employed it as a spade and soon stumbled upon another bone—this one long and with a jagged end.

Slumping against the wall, he eyed them dubiously. They didn't look human to him, but what did he know? What he thought a prison might've had a more sinister purpose.

"Potter..."

His head jerked up, and he grinned in relief when he saw Malfoy peering at him through sunken grey eyes. "Draco! How are you holding up?"

"Hurts," Malfoy whispered. "Water?"

He sobered up. "That's in short supply right now."

Malfoy swallowed and opened his mouth again. "...enix?"

"Say what?"

"Phoenix." His chest heaved as if he had run a race. "Call it."

"I did. Either she's having too much fun, or... or this island's warded tighter than Hogwarts." He stared at his lap. If Ikililou's words about the only way in being by sea were to be believed, it was likely the latter. "Look, Malfoy—sorry for dragging you into this. I should've listened... Malfoy?"

Malfoy's head had lolled back and his eyes were closed. His eyelids were twitching and his breath was coming in raspy bursts.

"Hang in there," Harry muttered.

His thoughts wandered. Any hopes that someone back home would track them down were fading fast—if even Firo couldn't find him, scrying spells stood no chance. With Malfoy out of commission, it would be up to him to save their necks, yet all he was left with were the clothes on his back.

He made a frustrated noise. A wizard without a wand was still a wizard. What other resources did he have?

Time, for one. If Voldemort's resurrection had taught him anything, it was that such rituals necessitated extensive preparations. (Well, that, and the importance of situational awareness.) Time wasn't entirely on his side, however, because he just might die of dehydration before being sacrificed to this alleged goddess.

His knowledge, for another. While he had never been the most diligent student, his NEWTs were nothing to scoff at. Seven years at the premier school of witchcraft and wizardry had to count for something... Alas, the curriculum didn't encompass wandless spellcasting. He could almost hear Ikililou's derisive cackle.

He glanced at the bones he had been idly fiddling with. The jagged one, if sharpened further, could hypothetically be used to stab someone. Someone unarmed. Preferably blind and deaf too—or at least polite enough to wait until Harry shuffled close enough.

Snorting, he looked up. If he didn't succumb to thirst before he sufficiently recovered from the venom, he might be able to snap the twines that bound the wooden grating and climb out. As he was now, however, even standing was a tall order.

He stared off vacantly. His gaze landed on a jagged line he had scratched into the clay nearby, and he blinked. _There was_ a way for him to do magic without a wand. He lacked tools, lacked proper materials, but those were mere aids—while the end product wouldn't be pretty, it would still—

The hope died as quickly as it had come, and he chucked away the bone in irritation. Whatever runes he etched, he still needed a wand to activate them. That was how they had always done it, from the first Ancient Runes class in his third year.

No, that wasn't quite right. The first classes had been devoted to theory, history, an introduction to the craft. Professor Babbling had explained that runes were an ancient form of magic—that long before the advent of wands, the earliest mages would carve inscriptions onto granaries to repel pests and onto homes to prevent fires. Back then, of course, it wasn't called runes but simply writing, and literacy was scarce enough to be considered a magic of its own.

He furrowed his brows. How had the ancients done it, when wands wouldn't be invented for millennia? Surely there were other ways to channel magic. Perhaps even something as simple as speech or music, if what he had seen around these parts was any indication.

He eyed the fallen bone, and regretting his fit of temper, crawled to retrieve it. Locating a stone sticking out of the pit's wall, he filed the bone's tip into a point. It was slow going, but hope was a powerful motivator.

His pulse raced from equal parts exertion and excitement as he took his impromptu chisel back to his corner. Raising it above the flat bone, he deliberated until settling on _Algiz_: the basis of any protective scheme. The first pass scratched an even vertical line, but his triumph was short-lived because the tip he had tapered so meticulously crumbled. Scowling, he pressed down the now-blunter tool to etch the rune's arms.

Laying the chisel aside, he lifted the flat bone and blew the powder off its surface. The rune was far from accurate—and accuracy _mattered_, the professor had drilled that into his head—but it was, unmistakably, an _Algiz_.

What now?

He touched his finger to the etching and imagined power flowing through his veins, down his arm and to his fingertip, permeating his skin, trickling into the rune, filling it with magic...

The bone looked no different. Perhaps the response was too faint to see with a naked eye? Making himself more comfortable, he joined his palms and meditated. Between the punishing heat and the noise, relaxation didn't come easily, but he had time in spades. Eventually, his breathing evened out and his aches retreated.

There was Malfoy, oddly _muted _compared to how Harry remembered from the boat ride; as expected, the venom on the darts had a magical component. There was a stifling film over them—over the entire island, as far as he could tell. And there was, clutched in his palms, a piece of distinctly unmagical bone.

Allowing his frustration to surge and ebb, he brushed his thumb over the etching and imagined that same energy as when he first picked up his wand surge through his limbs, into his palms, filling them with warmth... And he pushed it into the rune, making it come alive...

Except it hadn't.

Growling, he gripped the bone as if to crush it. Pain lanced through his finger, and his concentration wavered—but not before he saw, not with his eyes but a deeper awareness, the crooked rune flare up.

His eyelids flew open. His torn fingernail had caught on a furrow in the bone, and a droplet of fresh blood stained its surface. Even now, he could almost sense a feeling of security radiating off the rune.

_Of course_. He should've known after witnessing Voldemort's ritual in his first year and after reading tales of human sacrifice throughout the darker parts of history. Blood held power that could be harnessed by an unscrupulous wizard, and although he never learned the forbidden spells to do so, he evidently didn't need them for something as simple as powering runes.

He looked across the pit—if only he could share his victory with Malfoy—then grinned and set to work.

He toiled into the night, at first pausing to look up every few minutes, then becoming so engrossed he lost track of time. His palms blistered and his chisel eroded to a stub. By the time he scrawled the last empty inch with a _Thurisaz Merkstave_, he was so exhausted he barely had the presence of mind to hide the evidence before passing out where he sat.

When he woke up, latticed light had already descended the opposite wall almost to the bottom. The thought that the sun would soon reach its zenith and turn the pit into an oven made him moan. His eyes hurt and his body was heavy, although whether that was because of the hunger and thirst or the all-nighter he had pulled, he wasn't sure.

He blinked the crust from his eyes and made sure no one was watching from above before retrieving his handiwork from his trouser pocket. In broad daylight, the carving was strikingly ugly, and not just because of the crude workmanship. He had pondered on the enchantment to use—a shield, a curse, a veil—but what he settled on wasn't quite so... structured. Purposely breaking every rule he could recall, joining runes in combinations forbidden due to their volatility, he crafted an abomination that would've sent his erstwhile professor into hysterics.

The method to the madness was something his housemates had dubbed the 'Longbottom effect'. After a year of joint classes with Gryffindor, they became well-acquainted with the fact that improperly performed magic tended to produce unpredictable—even violent—results.

Funnily enough, violent was exactly what he wanted.

He eyed the comatose Malfoy, wishing it was Neville in his place—an imitation would never measure up to natural talent—then flipped the carving over. Odd symbols mixed in with the runes drew his gaze. In his exhausted, half-delirious state, he had reproduced some of the glyphs he had seen in the temple—for what reason, if there even was one, he couldn't recall.

In all likelihood, those would do nothing at all. He just hoped the thing packed enough of a punch to serve as a distraction. As much as he wished to see the naga in the flesh, he didn't fancy paying for it with his life.

He slid the carving into his pocket and ran his parched tongue across his lips. His mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Sunlight advanced relentlessly across the bottom and toward Malfoy. Harry groaned and crawled over to move him. The cultists had better come soon, or there wouldn't be anything left to sacrifice.

Malfoy stirred as he dragged him into the dwindling shade. His eyes were glazed, and Harry had to put his ear to his lips to hear him.

"Where..."

"About seven feet below ground, on an Unplottable island, in the hands of snake-worshiping cultists," Harry reported dully. "Same as yesterday."

Malfoy's gaze focused. "Hate... you."

He patted his shoulder. "That's the spirit. If you still have the energy to joke, you're not that bad off."

"Wasn't... a joke."

"There you go again," he said, ambulating back to his corner. "I'll have you know I prepared a little something while you napped. The fuckers will be in for a surprise when they come for us."

Malfoy squinted at him as if having trouble seeing. "What?"

Harry smirked. "You'll see."

Malfoy pulled a face. His sunken cheeks and blackened lips made for a ghastly sight—but then again, the same could probably be said about Harry himself.

He battled his stained shirt before pulling it off and draping it over his head in lieu of a headscarf. Once the sun beat down directly, he wasn't even certain it had been worth the effort. Squeezing his eyes shut, he imagined that the glare was caused by a golden fireball, that Firo had come to take him away from this hellhole...

Sighing, he opened his eyes a fraction. The flies that had left during the night returned with friends, but he couldn't muster the strength to swat them. A shadow glided overhead as a colorful bird perched atop the grating. It tilted its crested head to look down at him, then flew off.

He absently checked the carving in his pocket and froze when he felt something else. Rummaging around, he fished out a peanut. He stared, hardly believing his luck, then tossed it into his mouth.

The rancid taste made bile rise in his throat. Rolling the bitter bits around his arid mouth, he swallowed again and again until there was nothing left. Gagging slightly, he propped his back against the cooler soil.

The shadows of the lattice crept along the floor. Hunger, which he hadn't really felt before, now gnawed his stomach, and his thirst grew even more acute. For someone able to get clean water at the turn of a tap his entire life, this was a miserable experience indeed.

He wallowed in self-pity for a while, then shook it off. A wizard. He was still a wizard. Glancing at this grimy palm, he cupped it and imagined it filling with water. He checked surreptitiously if Draco was looking before whispering, "Aguamenti."

Nothing. How did Uagadou teach its students to do magic without a wand? Come to think of it, how had Voldemort accomplished his wandless feats? Perhaps H would know.

"Aguamenti. Aguamenti. Aguamenti."

Was it just his fancy, or had his skin grown damp? He licked his palm tentatively and grimaced. Just sweat. He sagged against the wall again.

"Aguamenti, Aguamenti, Aguamenti..."

A snort made him look up. Malfoy stared at him as if he wanted to say something but couldn't spare the energy.

Harry ducked his head, but his chagrin was nothing compared to his desire for water. Glaring at his palm, he resumed his chant.

Minutes passed before a feeble voice echoed his. Malfoy was staring at his own trembling palm as his scabrous lips moved almost soundlessly.

Harry grinned; his actions didn't seem so stupid anymore. Under Malfoy's murmurs, he brought his palms together and believed, really believed, that at his word, cool water would fill them to the brim, trickle over his fingers and drip to the soil, sloshing in his unsteady hold...

"_Aguamenti_."

A bead appeared in the groove between his joined palms. He held his breath, blinking furiously, fearing that he was hallucinating—but the bead was growing, forming a tiny puddle—

Laughter rang out from above, and he dropped his hands to his sides as if caught doing something improper. Snake-Face and Plait stood by the pit, their eyes glinting with cold amusement. From behind them came up Straw-Hat, who wore an expression of malicious glee.

"If only Britain could see her hero now," he taunted. "You were always a fraud, weren't you, Potter?"

Harry's brain was too sluggish to come up with any retorts. He glanced at his hands, where damp streaks were prominent across mud-caked skin. That tiny victory made the cultist's jeers seem insignificant.

Dirt rained down as the two topless men lifted the grating. Straw-Hat brandished his wand and levitated the prisoners out of the pit. Harry played up his weakness, flopping prone on the grass much like Malfoy had.

Plait waved his hand before his nose and hissed; Snake-Face laughed.

Straw-Hat chuckled before lifting his wand. "If you wanted water, you should've but asked."

A jet of water hit Malfoy's back, causing him to jerk and flounder. Straw-Hat thoroughly doused him, much to the amusement of his comrades, before directing the stream at Harry.

He lifted his head and gulped down greedily, barely registering the captors' laughter. Stuck in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, the poor sods must've been lacking better entertainment. Being an understanding bloke, Harry didn't mind so long as he got to drink his fill.

Snake-Face stepped on the back of his head to mash his face into the mud underneath. Spluttering, he turned sideways so he could breathe. Never mind. He might be an understanding bloke, but this prick was going down hard.

A thick hand clamped around Harry's ankle, and he yelped as he was slung over Snake-Face's shoulder like a sack. Tilting his head back, he spied Plait touching a charm around his neck before subjecting Malfoy to the same procedure.

The cultists traipsed off into the jungle in a single file. Dangling upside down, Harry craned his neck to avoid smacking his cheek against Snake-Face's loincloth. Behind, Plait hauled Malfoy with no visible effort. Harry regarded the dense trees as he flexed his muscles. He still felt too shaky to make a run for it, never mind bringing Malfoy along.

The path turned, and around Snake-Face's muscular hip, he saw the stone temple loom ahead, a trio of cultists gathered at its base. His gaze flicked up to his trouser pocket. There was nothing for it now but going through with his plan.

The crone, the teenage fisherman, and even the little boy from the village joined their procession up the pyramid. The cultists communicated in hisses alone, making for an eerily quiet scene despite the elation on their faces. When Harry met the slit-pupil eyes of the crone, whom the teenager was supporting by the shoulders, she leered revealing her elongated fangs.

His head bobbed above the top stair, and the stone platform came into sight. Two posts were erected before the concentric circles, which had been scrubbed clean of dirt and debris. He glimpsed dimpled grooves dividing them into what looked like a heptagram.

Snake-Face chucked him down beside a post, and yanking his arms back, tied his wrists behind it. He tested the ropes as Malfoy suffered the same fate. So much for hoping that the cultists would trust the poison to immobilize him.

The cultists streamed past him and Malfoy without a backward glance. The crone proceeded to hiss and point, directing the others to take positions at the points of the heptagram.

Harry wondered where the last member of their merry band was and got his answer when Scar emerged from the temple carrying a tray upon which jade statuettes were perched—_four_ of them. Less stable than three or five... That might explain why whatever was locked inside could reach out.

The cultists watched in reverent silence as Scar tiptoed into the heptagram and arrayed the statuettes inside the centermost circle. She rose to her feet, bowed to the crone, and took the last empty spot at the seventh point.

Anticipation charged the air, and an alien jubilance—something Harry hadn't felt since Voldemort's second coming—infringed on his consciousness. Heedless of his chafing wrists, he rubbed the ropes against the post in hopes they would fray enough to snap.

A bamboo flask changed hands between the cultists. Each took a swallow before Scar drained it and tossed it aside. At the crone's command, everyone drew a wavy dagger and started a chant in Parseltongue.

Harry couldn't help shivering. Despite its sibilant quality, the chant gradually drowned out the noises of the jungle—or rather, it was the jungle that was falling silent. Birds fled the nearby treetops, insects quieted, and the trees themselves stilled as the ever-present sea breeze died down.

The alien feeling of joy spiked as the chant undertook a harsher tone. The cultists swayed with its flowing rhythm, their pupils dilated to blackness. In the middle, the statuettes writhed closer to one another as if attracted by a magnetic pull. Harry lost himself staring at their refined forms, each depicting the naga in a different state, before a guttural cry made him flinch.

Blood spurted from the boy's extended wrist, his other hand lowering a crimson-stained dagger. Despite the pain he must have suffered, there was only rapture on his youthful face.

Harry tugged at the ropes, then, abandoning caution, leaned forward to overturn the post, but it didn't budge.

Plait stuck out his meaty wrist and slashed, adding his blood into the stone groove below. The chant went on, each high point punctuated by an involuntary exclamation and a spatter of blood. Crimson stained the grooves circle by circle, drawing ever closer to the center. The air above shimmered as though with heat, but Harry could only feel a deep cold. The sun dimmed as dark clouds gathered over the temple.

"Potter," Malfoy said, not bothering to lower his quivering voice, "if you have something up your sleeve, now would be the time to use it."

"I'm trying!" He battled the ropes until his arms felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

The boy sank to his knees, his pale lips still moving stubbornly. The crone too began to falter, the blood from her wound trickling along her parchment-like skin to drip from her gnarled fingers.

Blood colored the second-to-last circle before seeping into the innermost one. The previously perfect jade fractured as the statuettes slithered toward one another, four desperately seeking to become one.

The crone teetered and collapsed, and the chant broke. Straw-Hat gave a keening cry and pierced his forearm, his ashen face splitting into a demented smile as his blood gushed out. The innermost circle brimmed crimson, and the surroundings darkened while the heptagram glowed as though drawing all the light into itself. At its center, the statues shattered, and specters of the naga emerged, rising and intertwining.

Exultant cries rang out, and tears ran down Harry's cheeks. _At last_. After millennia of agony, she was free, free to seek revenge on the descendants of Atlantis, to bring the world to heel, to restore the glory of—shaking off the elation engulfing his mind, he clenched his jaw shut to cut off his maniacal laughter.

The specters merged, and four different expressions overlapped on the naga's face before it settled on a mask of rage. The outer circles dimmed as the center glowed so intensely it became unbearable to look at. Frigid wind rushed outward, stealing the warmth from Harry's body like a passing ghost, and he sagged to the ground. The surrounding trees withered and died with a susurration of desiccated leaves.

The blazing light coalesced into a tall serpentine figure. A muscular tail covered in violet scales coiled on the ground before curving up to a humanoid upper half of lilac skin and shapely curves. Flowing aquamarine hair framed a proud face with glinting crimson eyes. Agile fingers tipped with tapered claws trembled with emotion.

Harry's jaw sagged. Mara was reborn.


	25. Snake Cult, Part 6

Mara stretched her arms skyward, tossed her head back, and opened her fanged mouth in a hiss so piercing that Harry's hands jerked in a vain attempt to cover his ears. The cultists fell to their knees and bowed their heads. She regarded them before speaking in a more restrained tone.

Scar raised her head a fraction and replied haltingly. After a minute of hissed dialogue, she gestured toward Harry and Malfoy.

Mara turned, narrowed her crimson eyes, and slithered toward them with rippling undulations of her tail. Harry drank in every detail. Her lustrous scales thinned out to merge smoothly into skin just above where her tail flared out like a pair of hips. Golden piercings glimmered in her bellybutton and her fin-like ears. Aside from aquamarine tresses that fell to her large breasts, she had no body hair—a fact he was certain of, given that clothes evidently weren't in fashion back in her day.

She came to rest before him, her lilac skin glistening as if she had just emerged from the sea. A smile tugged at his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy scrabbling as far away as the ropes allowed. What a fool.

Peering at him, Mara unleashed a string of halting words. "_Ssss... _Thisss was the tongue you spoke, was it not? Lisssten well, vermin, for I shall not repeat myssself. My devoted left you alive so that I may feast upon your heartsss... Yet you played a part in my revival, however insssignificant. I offer you a place among my servants." She stooped over him, and the smell of seawater tickled his nostrils. "Answer, hairless ape. Are you speechless from terror after witnessing my glorious form?"

"Um," Harry said, forcing his gaze up from her breasts, "not exactly."

"It is pointless to lie in my presence. Your fear is thick in the air." Her forked tongue darted out, and a befuddled expression crossed her face. "There's... no fear? Not from you, no... but there's something elssse..." Her slit-pupil eyes flicked to his crotch.

"What the hell's _wrong_ with you?" Malfoy exclaimed.

Harry sheepishly brought his knees up to cover the bulge in his trousers. Drawing back, the naga rasped out a series of hisses that he recognized as laughter.

"I remember humans like you, from ages passst." She wet her lips. "If I am the lassst of my kind... you may be worth keeping around. It's been a long time since I enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh."

He gulped and shifted while Malfoy made a noise of revulsion. Behind the naga, the cultists huddled together and bandaged their wounds. Shaking off his fellows' hands, Straw-Hat—minus the actual hat—crawled toward Mara and hissed beseechingly. Without turning, she whipped her tail to smack him aside, and he collapsed with a look of ecstasy on his face.

"About that... I don't have a choice, do I? If I refuse, you'll kill me and eat my heart?" Harry awaited her reply with bated breath.

Her rasping laughter came again. "Well reasoned, ape. You _will_ serve me, in one form or another."

"Oh no," he deadpanned, grinning ear to ear. "Then I can do nothing but resign myself to my fate—um, my lady." Su would understand, surely; the alternative was death.

"_Sssssss_..." Mara's claws sank into his hair and yanked his head back. "Then carve out that human's heart and offer it to me as a sign of loyalty."

His grin faltered as he sent Malfoy a sidelong look. "Sure. One human heart, coming right up. May I have my wand back, please?"

Mara let go and turned to address her minions. They exchanged dubious glances before Scar offered a hesitant response.

The tip of Mara's tail slapped the ground, and she hissed insistently. The cultists prostrated themselves except for Plait, who clambered to his feet and wobbled behind the posts.

Harry stilled as a cold blade slipped between the rope and the raw skin of his wrist, and sawed back and forth. His gaze darted around. The crone and the boy were out cold, but the remaining five had dressed their wounds and would offer resistance, weakened by the bloodletting as they were.

"So, anyway," he said to stall for time, "how come you speak our language so well?"

Mara glanced at him over her shoulder. "Many of your kind's crude tongues I picked up during my imprisonment... It is revolting, how widely you proliferated without us to cull your numbers." She raked a clawed hand through her hair. "Do not address me unless you're spoken to first, worm."

The ropes came apart, and groaning in relief, he brought his hands forward. "Forgive my insolence, O lady Mara... May I call you Mara? I merely wish to learn more about you so I may serve you better." He bowed low, fearing she would read the deceit on his face.

Scales scraped against stone as Mara circled the post, coiling her tail around him. Malfoy whimpered as she slithered past, but she paid him no heed, her madness-filled eyes fixed on Harry.

"I could speak for the remainder of your fleeting lifespan and recount but a hundredth of my sssuffering! Only because I learned to touch the minds around me did I keep my sanity... although, looking back, I might have gone mad. Whispering suspicions, planting doubts, stoking the embers of hate... Instigating bloodshed for no other reason than to vent my fury." Her fangs bared in a snarl. "Foolish indulgences that only prolonged my torment! Had I focused on reuniting the fragments of my prison from the start, your world would be very different now." She reached toward the sky and clenched her fists, her expression exultant. "But now eternity lies before me. Enough time to feast on your kind's lifeblood till I grow sick of it."

"Er, look," he said, "I think it's terrible, what was done to you. A complete atrocity."

Their eyes met, and her mind brushed his. Suppressing an impulse to close off, he brought his feelings to the fore. Condemning someone this beautiful to everlasting suffering was a travesty of justice, no matter the reason.

She tilted her head. "You say this, even though it was your ancestors who sentenced me? Even though we slaughtered one another by the thousands?"

"Ancient history, as far as I'm concerned." He winced at the flash of fury in her eyes. "Look, I kind of understand. My dad was a dick to this one guy, so he was a dick to me in return when I was growing up. But you have to break the cycle of hate—with love. Not me and that guy, I mean, but... you know."

A pensive look crossed her face. "Never has a human dared speak to me in such a manner when our armies roamed the oceans and pillaged the land. Have we lost the instinctual fear we used to strike into your hearts?" She glanced at the cowering Malfoy. "Perhaps not. I would talk with you at leisure after you prove yourself."

She hissed to Plait, who relinquished his wavy dagger to Harry with a scowl. Harry smirked just to annoy him before considering the stained blade. So they were still doing the whole heart carving thing.

"This isn't my wand," he observed.

"A good warrior is proficient in many weapons." Her tail smacked the ground. "Enough talk, human. My curiosity about you will not hold out long against my anger."

He eyed Malfoy, who was listening with wide eyes, and braced against the post to rise. Taking a faltering step, he swayed and collapsed to one knee. The dagger clattered to the ground; he clenched the blade with his right hand until it broke his skin.

Plait yanked him up by the armpit, hissing something undoubtedly rude.

"Sorry," Harry said. "Poisoned and starved, you know."

He dragged his feet over to Malfoy, who struggled feebly, and pretended to lean heavily on the post.

"Don't do this." Malfoy licked his lips. "Even if you follow its orders, the creature won't spare you."

"Maybe. She makes a hell of a more compelling case than you though." He winked discreetly as he transferred the dagger from his bloodied right hand to his left. "Now, don't squirm. I want your heart nice and intact for my lady."

He made a show of pointing the blade at Malfoy's chest, readying for a thrust, adjusting his grip. Mara's gaze burned a hole into his back. Drawing a shuddering breath, he thrust his right hand down his pocket, clenched the runic carving, and tossed it at the huddling cultists.

"Die!" he cried.

The carving landed atop a ridge separating the grooves of the heptagram, rolled, and came to rest on the edge. Everyone's heads whipped toward it, then at Harry. He switched the dagger into his dominant hand. _Bugger_.

"We're doomed," Malfoy said. "Potter, you're an imbecile."

"Hey, it would've been wicked if it worked." Harry swung the dagger at Plait, who had stepped threateningly in his direction. Farther ahead, Snake-Face stooped over the carving.

Mara spread her hands, and sparks danced between her claws. "You dare ssspurn my generosity? It was better than you deserved!"

"Don't take it personally," he said, backtracking until his back pressed against the post. As Snake-Face reached for the carving, it teetered and plonked into the blood-filled groove, which spluttered and glowed with eldritch light. A low hum resonated. _Come on, Neville_. "If I came back without Malfoy, there'd be all sorts of awkward questions."

"_Come back_?" she hissed. "You will perish here, vermin!"

Lightning crackled in her palms. Harry ducked behind the post, which split in half with a blinding flash. Blinking the afterimages out of his eyes, he crouched to cut Malfoy free.

The hum rose to a tooth-shaking rumble. He looked up and goggled. His runic abomination floated above the platform, spewing crackling discharges of energy. The blood in the grooves roiled, and thin feelers rose toward the darkening sky. Even Mara appeared shocked.

The cultists scrambled off the heptagram. Snake-Face tiptoed along the ridge, weaving through the feelers that angled hungrily toward him. He had almost made it out of the outermost circle when a feeler brushed his ankle. A dozen more surged to wrap his limbs and dragged him screaming to the ground; the more he struggled, the more he was enveloped until only a vaguely human shape remained under the writhing coils.

Mara hissed and gestured, and the feelers parted exposing a skinless back—but then the circle abruptly became a mirror, like the surface of a crimson lake, into which the feelers sank along with their prey. In their stead, a boulder-sized eyeball broke the smooth surface and swiveled on its thick stalk.

"Fuck me," Harry whispered. The eyeball centered on him and barbed tentacles erupted around it. "Figure of speech, figure of speech!"

A forest of tentacles sprouted from the circle, lashing out wildly and spreading a horrible stench of decay. In their midst, the floating carving shone so bright its light even penetrated their barbed flesh. The cultists scampered toward the stairs, dragging their unconscious along. Mara shot him a hate-filled look before a motion of her claws created a chasm in the stone that swallowed her whole.

Taking that as his cue to skedaddle, Harry slung Malfoy's arm over his shoulder and hauled him to the edge of the platform. He vacillated before a drop that was at least twice his height, but a glance behind him proved remarkably motivating. Crouching, he lowered Malfoy with trembling arms and let go. Malfoy crumpled on the step below with a moan.

Harry planted his palms on the edge and swung down, his feet dangling in the air. As his gaze swept over the undulating tentacles, his vision swam and his grip loosened. He gasped as he plummeted onto the lower step beside Malfoy, his legs giving out upon the jarring landing.

"Keep moving!" He tugged Malfoy toward the next drop. The temple shook, and disturbingly animate shadows cast by the _things _above cavorted beneath their feet.

"What the hell," Draco gasped.

"Keep moving!"

They tumbled down another step. Malfoy screamed and collapsed clutching his ankle. Harry swore and pulled him up, but a rising rumble resonated in his skull, forcing him to let go and clutch his ears.

The rumbling built up, shaking the foundations of the pyramid and causing him to lose his footing, until it culminated in an explosion that tossed him into the air like a ragdoll. He flailed in freefall for several long moments before crashing through something brittle and sprawling out on the ground.

He lifted his head and wheezed in a breath, then coughed out a lungful of dust. Around him towered dead, withered trees—only a stump remained of the one that cushioned his fall—and even the earth itself was dry and bereft of all life.

A cool droplet landed on his forehead. The clouds above burst into rain, and through their thinning cover, the sun peeked, creating a rainbow over the island that felt at odds with the desolation. Surrounded by dead jungle, the temple stood sundered in half, the platform atop it but a memory, the jagged walls of the topmost level collapsed inward.

Harry scanned it for any movement and giggled in hysterical relief. Only the stench of decay reminded of the _thing_, and the rain was swiftly washing it off. He swore then and there not to fuck around with runes unless he knew what he was doing. At least in general terms, anyway.

He patted himself down for injuries and made his way over to Malfoy, who lay prone on the ground nearby. The brownish grass crumbled under his feet as he walked. Stooping, he gripped Malfoy's shoulder and turned him over.

Malfoy moaned and opened his eyes.

He grinned, heartened. "Alright there?"

Malfoy closed his eyes again. "No thanks to you. That _monstrosity_... What did you do?"

"Long story short, I spliced unstable clusters of Norse runes with those weird glyphs from around these parts." At Malfoy's glare, he raised his palms defensively. "Hey, I had no idea _that_ would happen. The most Neville got out of a bollixed potion was an explosion, maybe a melted desk or two. Makes me glad he never took Runes."

Malfoy shuddered. "God preserve us. One crackpot with just enough knowledge to be dangerous is enough."

"Who are you talking about?" he asked, rising to his feet.

Malfoy stared at him pointedly.

He chuckled. "Such a joker. Are you forgetting I saved your life? At a great personal cost, I might add. Why, instead of babysitting you, I would now be wrapped in her sweet—"

The ground below his feet burst in a spray of gray powder. Shielding his face, he stumbled back, but a thick tail coiled around him, pinning his arms to his waist and bringing him face to face with Mara. Her embrace was heavy and firm like steel chains.

"Who taught you our runesss, foolish ape?" Her eyes were wild and her hair disheveled. "Had the sssumoning not been disrupted, the shogoth would have devoured usss!"

"Is that what it was?" He winced at her snarl. "I told you, I can't go around killing people! The world's much different from what you remember."

Her slit pupils narrowed. "Not for much longer, although neither you nor your friend will be there to witness it."

"He's not—" Breath whooshed from his lungs as her coils constricted. "C-can't we talk about this?"

She leaned in so close he could see his reflection in her eyes. "You've made your choice."

His bones creaked and his muscles tensed desperately to keep his organs from getting crushed as her serpent's half wound around his chest. His eyes bugged out when his compressed lungs failed to draw air. Something in his chest _cracked_, and his muscles lost strength. A cruel smile spread across Mara's face. His vision began to cloud.

_Help_. _Help help help_—

Flames flared overhead, accompanied by a reinvigorating trill. He glimpsed Mara's smile fading from her face before talons gripped his shoulder and golden fire consumed his vision.

Reappearing at the boundary where dead trees met green jungle, he rested his palms on his knees and sucked in breath after breath. "Firo, where've you been!"

Balancing one-legged on his shoulder, her other leg clutching his wand, Firo butted her head against his cheek. Disorienting panoramic images streamed into his mind: flying above an impenetrable mist in the middle of the ocean; the colossal head of a sea serpent poking out of the water; the mist dispersing in a blast to reveal an island surrounded by rock, a fountain of foul energies spewing from its center...

Shaking off the vision, he plucked the wand from her talons and grinned in delight when it greeted him with a spurt of sparks. "So you _were_ listening! How are things back—"

A torrent of fire rushed at him, setting the trees in its path ablaze, and Firo took off with a squawk. He belatedly shielded before slapping at his smoldering hair. The torrent died, and through the ashen path it had carved, Mara glided like a wrathful goddess. He lobbed a Stunner, but she raked her hand upward, and an earthen barrier rose to block it. At another gesture, it exploded pelting his shield with pebbles and dirt.

"Wait!" He tapped the trees around him, causing their dead branches to grasp at the inexorably advancing Mara. "I don't want to fight you!"

"Then you will die," she snarled, smashing a tree into splinters with her tail. "First of the millions to come."

More and more trees bent and contorted their branches to immobilize her until her advance stalled. Growling, she threw out her hands and summoned a roaring blaze that consumed the desiccated jungle and hid her towering figure from view.

As Harry retreated from the blistering heat, he tripped on a root and fell on his arse. As if having waited for that moment, the flames ahead surged at him.

He tapped his chest, casting a Flame-Freezing Charm an instant before the blaze swallowed him. Despite its roaring ferocity, the fire did little more than tickle—thank his lucky stars it wasn't cursed.

Squinting against the blaze, he flung hexes toward Mara's presumed location. The flames petered out, and his eyes widened at finding her within arm's reach. Before he could launch a spell, she spun on the spot and slammed her tail into his stomach, sending him hurtling through the air.

Landing heavily on his back, he sucked in a painful breath and pushed up, but his palms plunged into the sand underneath with no resistance. As he floundered for purchase, he sank deeper and deeper. He brought his wand to bear on Mara, but she motioned sharply, and a lump of quicksand rose to trap his arm.

A screech came from the skies, and Firo swooped down on her head. Shrinking away, Mara hissed and thrust her clawed hand. Steaming geysers burst from the ground one after another, and Firo chirped as she zigzagged around them.

Straining his muscles to the limit, Harry struggled to rise until the wet sand released him with a squelch. Now in a seated position, he clambered out of the pit.

Firo's chirping ended in a burble as she was caught in a floating sphere of water, bubbles trailing from her ajar beak. Mara extended a hand in her direction and made a fist, causing the water to boil, but there was a flash inside, and Firo vanished.

"Confringo," he spat, lowering his wand a couple of degrees at the last instant.

The streak of orange impacted the ground before Mara, and the ensuing blast tossed her aside. She clutched her head and hissed, her tail thrashing side to side. He followed up with a second curse, but the ground swallowed her, and the jet of light only obliterated a tree ahead.

He cast his gaze about, but nothing betrayed her presence. "Firo! Help!"

The thoroughly drenched phoenix plummeted from the sky and plopped on his shoulder. He couldn't resist snorting; if a bird could wear a peeved expression, this was definitely it. He gripped her tail, and a wonderful lightness spread through his body.

"Up, take me up," he said, his wand trained at the ground. "Quickly."

Firo chirped and took off with him in tow. The moment his feet left the ground, Mara's clawed hands burst out and clutched at the space he just vacated.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, "bite my—"

Mimicking her flesh-and-bone hands, enormous claws of rock erupted at her sides. Firo weaved between the colossal stone fingers, swinging him side to side while he tried to blast their way out. The first two curses whizzed past the still-emerging claws, but the third connected, spraying them with pulverized stone. When Firo slipped through the gap and rose out of their reach, the claws froze like the ribs of some antediluvian beast.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as Firo brought them around for a fly-by over Mara. Multicolored jets of light left his wand, but they fizzled out in a dome of water that surged up to protect her. Sketching a hexagon, he froze the water into shimmering ice and trained his wand down as Firo passed above it.

"Reducto!"

The ice shattered, but Mara was gone. Firo cawed and hovered in place aided by an occasional beat of her wings. A distant buzz reached his ears. He craned his neck until he spied black dots rising from the verdant jungle that stretched beyond the dead zone.

He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply until a disciplined calmness suffused his mind. As if that stupid illusion would work twice.

The buzzing intensified by the second. Opening his eyes, he flinched. The nearest insects were mere yards away and showed no sign of vanishing.

"_Shit_!"

Gouts of flame from his wand did little to slow the incoming swarm. A bee buzzed past his ear, and he swatted it with his hand; pain lanced his thigh, and he saw another sinking its stinger into his flesh. He slapped it off, yelling and flailing; Firo was fleeing, but not quickly enough.

He searched frantically for Mara—if he disrupted her concentration, the insects should lose interest in him—but she was nowhere to be seen. His wand grew warm as he gritted his teeth. He would burn the creepy-crawlies along with the muggy jungle.

As he opened his mouth to chant the incantation for Fiendfyre, his gaze landed on a blond figure between the trees. Right, Malfoy was still down there.

"Go higher!" he yelled, flailing his wand around as much to hex as to physically slap the bloodthirsty insects away. When Firo lifted him high above the treetops, he inhaled deeply and sketched a hexagon followed by a wide arc. "Glacius Maxima!"

Arctic wind exploded outward, freezing every insect in its path. He cast again and again, sending corpses of insects hailing onto the foliage below until hoarfrost whitened the treetops and his breath was coming out in wisps. Above him, Firo cheeped in complaint.

A blast came from below, and he barely brought his wand up in time to deflect a geyser of superheated water. Having surfaced at last, Mara launched another. As Firo swerved aside, he froze the geyser into a column of ice and animated it to lunge like an enormous serpent at Mara.

She countered with a torrent of flames. Steam erupted where fire clashed with ice, covering a swath of jungle. He bombarded the area until his ears rang, but was unable to tell if any of his curses connected.

A cry echoed in the green jungle behind, and he twisted mid-air to find Malfoy struggling to escape Mara's violet coils. Firo chirped and dived to bring them closer. He swore and trained his wand on Mara, but stayed his hand.

"Your life for hisss!" Mara's claw grazed Malfoy's pale neck, drawing blood. "Lower your weapon and come before me."

Firo's wings thumped as she hovered in place. He glanced around the jungle and surreptitiously directed his wand at a thick green liana. "Is the mighty naga afraid to face me head-on?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I give you your last warning. I know thisss one is precious to you."

An involuntary twitch disrupted his furtive charm. _Precious_? "Hurt him and you lose your shield. I don't care either way."

He cast again, the motions as tiny as he could make them. Mara's gaze flicked to his wand, and baring her fangs, she sank them into Malfoy's neck. His agonized howl rang through the island as he struggled fruitlessly in her hold.

For a moment, Harry only gaped. "Crazy bitch!" he yelled, lobbing a hex. "You weren't _actually_ supposed to do that!"

Mara lifted Malfoy like a shield, and his body thrashed as it absorbed the jet of light. Harry swore and aimed lower, peppering the ground with Hardening Charms. The animated liana finally crept up to Mara and wrapped her wrist; snarling, she tossed Malfoy away and cut herself free.

The ropes he launched were smacked aside by her tail, and the follow-up hexes absorbed by a hovering sphere of water. With Malfoy nearby, he couldn't risk anything lethal. Perhaps a more indirect approach...

"Circle her," he muttered, mentally pushing the vague image to Firo. She flapped away more jerkily than he would've preferred, but even obeying the command was an improvement.

He animated more greenery to harass Mara and mixed in a hex or two. As soon as she took cover behind her water barrier, he trained his wand down and urged Firo to slow.

"Flagrate," he mouthed, and sketched a fiery rune mid-air. A flick sent it to the ground, where it seared a blackened outline into the soil.

The barrier of water erupted toward him in a steaming torrent. Deflecting it, he pelted Mara with jinxes until she erected her barrier again.

"Flagrate." His _Elhaz _came out askew, but it was too late to worry about it because Mara brought down her barrier. "Tarantallegra, Flipendo, Levicorpus!"

Lightning crackled between her fingers, but before she could fling it, his barrage overwhelmed her, and she hid behind another dome. He grinned; treating even the lowliest of jinxes as if they were deadly, she was clearly unfamiliar with modern magic.

On and on he went, hoping against hope that his schematic wouldn't end up too mangled; what was supposed to be a polygon was already too deformed to be recognizable.

When only two runes were left, Mara seemed to catch on, because she raked her claw downward, but the ground refused to swallow her as it had before. Her tail smacked down, raising a cloud of dust, yet did not break the soil he had hardened. Hissing, she fled into the jungle.

Harry set the trees ahead of her ablaze to corral her in, then desperately sketched the remaining runes and sent their fiery outlines toward the last points of the polygon. He was too far away to tell if they had properly imprinted on the ground.

With an echoing crackle, white light flared between the trees where he had last seen Mara. His wand rose reflexively, but there was a blinding flash, and his limbs seized up as fire coursed through his nerves.

He might've passed out because the next thing he saw was a tangle of bushes rushing up at him. He raised his arms to protect his head before he smashed through the greenery and crashed onto soft soil. Firo's distressed cries came from somewhere nearby.

Groaning, he rolled over and lifted a shaking hand to adjust his glasses. Mara's sinuous figure came into focus, her mouth twisted in a sneer. Gritting his teeth, he employed every limb to scrabble along the ground—not away, but toward her.

Or rather, toward the _Laguz_ rune a few yards ahead.

Lightning crackled between Mara's fingers as she raised her arms toward the sky. Gripping his wand with his fist, he lurched forward and stabbed it into the rune. Wisps of smoke rose from the surrounding jungle as his runes blazed to life; Mara quaked from the neck to the tip of her tail before toppling over with a cry.

Letting out a noise between a groan and a laugh, he slowly rose to his feet and contemplated her. Her slit pupils tracked his movements, but she couldn't so much as twitch a finger otherwise. Professor Babbling would be stoked to hear that her schematic brought down an ancient creature of legend.

He sketched a circle and a jab. "Incarcerous."

Crisscrossing black ropes wrapped Mara shoulders-to-tail. Her arms snapped behind her back as a rope bound her wrists together before extending to the tip of her tail, curling her serpentine half into a semicircle. Her chest heaved, the ropes digging into her pliant flesh and emphasizing her breasts.

Swallowing, he raked his gaze over her. Just to make sure she was tied securely, nothing more.

In a flutter of wings, Firo alighted atop her shoulder, bobbed up and down, and warbled mockingly. Hopping to her serpentine half, she pecked at her glimmering scales.

Harry snickered as a lavender blush crept up Mara's cheeks. Charming the ropes unbreakable, he stomped on the smoldering rune beneath his feet. After he smeared it beyond recognition, Mara's expression unfroze and a low hiss left her lips.

"You'll pay for thisss humiliation! I'll rip out your bonesss one by one and sssuck out the marrow before your eyesss! I'll ssstrip the ssskin off—"

He raised a finger. "Excuse me for a minute."

He didn't know whether she decided not to waste her breath or was shocked that he would deem something more important than listening to her threats, but she fell silent as he took off toward the deathly still Malfoy. Crouching before him, Harry turned him on his back and gasped. Malfoy was so pale his lips were blue. An ugly bruise had formed where Mara had bitten him.

Harry stuck two fingers to the uninjured side of his neck and put his ear to his nose. Still breathing, albeit shallowly.

"Did you poison him?" he called out. "How do I stop it?"

"You cannot," Mara replied with pride. "I cultivated my venom for centuries."

Malfoy's eyes fluttered open, and his lips moved. Harry leaned in to listen.

"Bezoar..."

He drew back with a sigh. "Do I look like Snape?"

Dragging Malfoy to a tree, he propped him against the trunk. He washed the wound with conjured water and began to cast _Episkey _before thinking better of it. Wasn't he supposed to suck out the venom first?

He eyed Malfoy's swollen neck. Meh, it was probably too late for that.

Malfoy drew a whistling breath. "Tears..."

Harry patted his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sure plenty of people will cry at your funeral. Just don't ask me to bawl my eyes out."

Malfoy glared at him, then at something over his shoulder. "Phoenix... tears."

"Oh? _Ooh_!" Eyes wide, he turned and waved. "Get over here, Firo! Come here, that's a good birdie!"

It was just as well he had called, because judging from the way Firo was wagging her tail, it looked like she was about to take a dump atop her fallen enemy. She regarded Harry with a beady eye, warbled to Mara, and flew over to perch atop his knee.

He gestured at Draco's neck. "Look, Malfoy's badly hurt. You know what to do, yeah? Don't mind him being a Dark wizard; that was just a phase."

Firo tilted her head, then preened her wing feathers. A rattling noise came from Malfoy's lungs.

Harry sent him a worried look. "She hasn't cried before, but as a creature of light, it should be in her nature to help people in need. Hang on, let's try something else."

Closing his eyes, he pictured Malfoy moaning in terrible pain. (Given a very real moan that reached his ears, that wasn't difficult.) He imagined Firo landing on his shoulder, gripping it tight, and vanishing in a burst of flames to reappear inside the waiting room of St. Mungo's—

Wings flapped, and the warm weight atop his knee vanished. A smile spread across his face, but it fled the moment he opened his eyes. Firo was examining a small yellow pebble on the ground. She gave it a few experimental pecks, trapped it in her beak, and tilted her head back to swallow, only to choke and cough it out. He slapped his forehead.

"Sorry, Draco, my phoenix is special." Sighing, he assumed a somber expression. "It was nice knowing you. Don't worry, I'll personally break the news to Astoria. Make you out to be a hero and stuff."

"Stay... away," Malfoy ground out.

"Relax, I'll be all gentlemanly. Offer her a shoulder to cry on and everything. I'll even bring flowers, women love those." He frowned. "_Should_ I bring flowers? I'm not too familiar with pureblood customs... Wouldn't want to embarrass myself."

"Fuck flowers!" Malfoy slumped against the trunk, foaming at the mouth from the effort.

He raised his palms. "Alright, I get it, no flowers. Sheesh. I figured it would soften the blow, you know?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Potter..." His voice was barely a wheeze.

"Yeah?" He lowered his ear to his mouth.

"I'll... sell... house-elf."

"Blimey, you must really care about"—he raked a hand through his hair—"I mean, _of course_ you do, you're bloody dying. Sorry, Malfoy, I... don't know what to do."

He cast a desperate look around. Some of the plants in the jungle might be suitable for brewing antidotes, but he never took Herbology or learned to identify venoms. Mara met his gaze with a glare—he would get no help from her. Gnawing on his lip, he slipped his hands into his pockets.

His left hand encountered several pellets, and he froze. Turning to Firo, who was now hunting a shiny beetle, he extended a palm with three peanuts atop.

"Look, chili peanuts!" Seeing her crested head swivel his way, he smacked his lips. "Mm, nice and spicy."

Firo hopped up to him and fluttered her wings, chirping eagerly. He crouched before her and made sure she had a good look at his palm.

"Want them, do you?" Staring her in the eye, he upended his palm. "Too bad, bird-brain! Welcome to the real world where nothing goes your way!" Springing to his feet, he ground the peanuts into the dirt with his heel.

Firo squawked in distress and scurried around him.

"Those were my last ones too!" he yelled, a little breathless. "Get used to the taste of dirt, because you're not getting anything better for a long while! Maybe if you weren't so bloody..." Trailing off, he gaped at a thick, pearly tear rolling from Firo's eye. "Yes! _Yes_!"

Scooping her up, he kissed her stupid feathery head and thrust her at Malfoy, who retained enough sense to bare his neck. Firo squirmed and cheeped miserably, but Harry held her fast. When the first pearly droplet fell on Malfoy's inflamed skin, the bruise began fading before Harry's eyes. He aimed the following tears directly on the two puncture wounds.

Malfoy's breaths came deeper and clearer as the rattling in his chest subsided. Even his face regained color. Of the wounds, there only remained circular scars the size of a Knut.

"Well done," Harry crooned. "What a brilliant bird you are."

Malfoy's eyes swiveled to stare at the crying phoenix. "Enough," he whispered. "Conjure a vial and collect the rest."

"Huh? What do you need them for?" Malfoy had certainly recovered if he was already thinking of turning a profit.

"Not me... my wife. _Please_."

He set Firo down, and conjuring a somewhat askew vial, scooped up the tears off her feathers with its rim. "What's wrong with your wife?"

"Nothing as of yet, it's just..." Malfoy prodded his neck gingerly and straightened up. "It's complicated. Consider it payment for the elf, alright?"

He perked up. "In that case... Go on, Firo, cry some more—_ouch_!" He drew back the vial and rubbed the finger she had pecked. "Fine, I guess you've done enough... Oi, what's the big—no, wait—ow, ow_,_ _stop_!"

He shielded his face as a decidedly non-weepy bird tore into him with her talons. Plugging the vial with his thumb, he pushed her away with his free hand, but she squawked furiously and dived at his head, battering him with her wings. He yelped as her beak stabbed him above his eye; the next moment, heat scorched him and she vanished.

Clamping a palm over his eye, he righted himself. "That bloody little... Oh well, I probably deserved it this time." Now he would be awakened in the small hours of the morning and have holes pecked into his favorite shirts. He contemplated Malfoy, not entirely sure his life was worth the price.

"I still can't believe that worked." Malfoy screwed his face up. "Listen, Potter... thanks."

Grinning, he stood up and proffered a hand. "You save my life, I save yours. That's what mates are for, right?"

Malfoy scowled and opened his mouth, then closed it again. Clasping Harry's hand, he rose unsteadily to his feet. Harry wanted to ask what Astoria was suffering from to require phoenix tears but recalled he had more pressing issues to solve. Pocketing the vial, he strolled toward Mara. Her gaze alternated between him and Malfoy, who lagged a few steps behind. Halting before her, Harry was suddenly not sure what to say.

She spoke first, the pensiveness in her tone a far cry from her previous rage. "I have allowed anger to cloud my judgment once again. Your kind did not idle through the millennia... Your magic lacks power, but you wield it with skill and cleverness." Her face twisted in frustration. "Neverthelessssss... Had I my scepter, I would've rent this isle in half and made the seas swallow you."

"Lucky for me you didn't have it," Harry said.

"Indeed." She bared her fangs. "I'm at your mercy, human. What is to become of me?"

"Good question," Draco said darkly. "If you can't bring yourself to finish it, Potter, just lend me your wand. I owe the creature for this." He tapped his neck.

Harry's fists clenched as he met her eyes. "Never again," he murmured.

"Pardon?"

He shook his head. "I have a feeling she'd find a way to return. There has to be a reason the ancients imprisoned her instead of killing her outright."

"So _that's_ why you kept it alive—"

"Her."

"Whatever," Malfoy said impatiently. "In that case, I recommend Azkaban. The creature might not need a wand to use magic, but the Dementors should sap its powers all the same."

Mara blanched. "Hear me out, human—I can be useful to you. I know blood rituals that increase your powers tenfold. I can teach you magic your kind has long since forgotten. I shall lead you to treasures buried under the oceans—"

"Spare me the spiel," he said tiredly. Blood rituals, really. No doubt those came with gruesome side effects she would conveniently forget to mention. "I'm letting you go, no strings attached."

"You _are_?" Draco exclaimed, while Mara only stared.

Perhaps he had been a little too hasty. "But feel free to send any extra treasure my way! And, er, promise to drop the whole 'exterminate humanity' bit."

Mara blinked slowly. "I already reached the same conclusion after my bloodlust faded. Reigning over a barren wasteland does not appeal to me, and if the rest of your kind share your strength, they would make for worthy followers." Her eyes glazed over. "Yesss... I shall conquer your people instead, and carve out a place for my descendants to grow up unpersecuted."

Shrugging, Harry decided that was an all-around improvement. "Speaking of carving... you don't actually _have_ to eat human hearts, do you? Because that's a big no-no these days."

"Have to? During my reign, I could barely stomach..." She averted her gaze. "It is a gesture to terrorize our enemies, not a source of nourishment. I shall happily swear off it if that grants my freedom."

"Good enough." A wave of his wand caused the ropes binding her to unravel.

Malfoy squeezed his shoulder. "Have you gone mad—well, _madder_? You're subjecting people to be ruled by a bloodthirsty monster!"

"Many would describe their current governments that way. Why would the average person even care who's at the top?" He admired her sleek curves as she wriggled out of the ropes. "Who knows, her rule might even prove unexpectedly popular."

Malfoy began to protest, then whimpered and scooted behind him. Mara straightened her curled tail and rose upon it until she towered over the two of them. Harry hid his unease behind a smile as he tilted his head to meet her eyes.

Her crimson gaze flicked to something behind him. She bolted past, nearly knocking him off his feet, and gave a shrill hiss. He whirled around. Among the broken trees stood the scarred woman clutching an obsidian dagger. She inclined her head to Mara before motioning at the jungle behind her.

The greenery parted releasing a dark-skinned boy, who ran up and clutched Scar's bandaged hand. A twig snapped to their right, and Plait emerged bearing his blowpipe. The teenager followed, stepping in protectively before Scar and the boy. Everyone glared daggers at Harry. If they were the only survivors, he could hardly blame them.

Mara addressed them in Parseltongue. The cultists bowed as one, yet their scowls only deepened, and Harry could see them exchanging glances.

She faced him. "They obey, but their hatred for you runs deep. Someone might decide that begging for my forgiveness is better than seeing you alive. It would be unwise of you to linger."

He resisted the urge to shrink back from the cultists' glares and instead met them squarely. Plait clenched his blowpipe, while the teenager trembled and took a step back. Harry called upon Firo, but as expected, she didn't show.

"I've no way—" He coughed to cut off his admission of weakness. "I still have unfinished business in this place."

Mara's eyes bore into his for several tense seconds before she lowered herself to his height. "Then it will be us who withdraw. It is only proper for the loser of a bout to do so, and there is nothing left for me here in any case." She hissed to her faithful.

Plait took off toward the village at a light jog, while the rest followed Mara through the jungle, the trees parting to grant them passage. Harry exchanged a glance with Malfoy before following them. Now and then, the cultists would glare over their shoulders, and at one point, Scar began to finger her charms, but a hiss from Mara made her bow her head.

A nerve-wracking quarter of an hour later, they emerged into the beach before the cavern, where Plait was already waiting with a large sack over his shoulder. Mara slithered into the water and began a sibilant chant. Harry eyed the cultists cautiously and fingered his wand, but they seemed cowed enough not to start a fight.

The splashing of waves grew louder and louder until an enormous shadow glided out of the cavern into the lagoon before the beach. The spiny head of a very familiar—and _very large_—sea serpent broke the surface. The beast gurgled out a breath, smothering the beach with a rotting stench, and fixed its huge black eyes upon Mara. Something like a bleat came from its throat, and it lowered its scaly muzzle toward her.

Mara caressed its enormous whiskers, her face shining with joy. The serpent's eyelids sagged as it rumbled in response to her touch.

"Should've taken care of her while we had the chance," Malfoy muttered, backpedaling toward the jungle. "I don't fancy our chances."

Harry resisted following his example. "She's been nothing but well-behaved. You need to learn to trust people."

"People?"_People_?" Malfoy swept his hand toward Mara.

"See, that attitude's exactly the problem. The ancients massacred them to the last person and had their homeland destroyed in turn. I'd like to think we learned a thing or two since then."

"Whoever these ancients were, they didn't do a good enough job."

Out in the surf, Mara coiled her tail like a spring, and with a spray of seawater, propelled herself onto the serpent. At a slap of her palm, it laid its spiny head flat on the sand. She gestured to her followers, who hesitantly came up to join her. Plait gave the others a boost before clambering up himself.

Ignoring Malfoy's whispered warning, Harry strode toward them, his wand held at his side. The cultists were too shaken to do anything but clutch the serpent's spines, while Mara actually smiled at him.

"It warms my heart to see our trusty warbeasts still prowl the seas," she said, patting the serpent's hide. "Perhaps some of our underwater cities yet stand, deserted as they no doubt are. That would make arming ourselves for the upcoming conquest easier."

"Er... Best of luck with that." Malfoy might've had a point after all, but standing alone before a gargantuan sea serpent wasn't a great position for renegotiating the terms of her freedom. "Just stay away from Britain, alright? Taking some islands no one's heard about is one thing, but if you cause a ruckus too close to home, they're likely to send me to deal with it, and I'd rather not fight you again."

Wrapping her tail around a spine, she hung upside-down so that her face leveled with his and the tips of her long aquamarine hair brushed the sand. "I would not be opposed to testing my strength against yours again... Not to death, but in sport." She gazed into his eyes. "Join me in my conquest, human. I am offering you a place not below me, but at my side. We shall take what we desire, as is the prerogative of the strong, and give rise to a clan that will come to dominate the world."

"G-give rise to a clan?"

Her smile widened, and she dragged a clawed finger across his cheek. "It wasn't unheard of for a union between one of my kind and yours to produce offspring. That was how our servants gained the ability to speak our tongue."

"Good lord," Malfoy exclaimed far behind them, "that is _sick_."

Harry's imagination ran wild and his gaze inadvertently swept up her sinuous body.

Laughing raspily, Mara leaned in to whisper into his ear. "I can tell you do not find my appearance repulsive. Think about it... My power and yours. Our offspring would make formidable warriors indeed." Her forked tongue brushed his earlobe.

He swallowed. "Listen, I'd love to raise a bunch of cute monster babies with you and lead them on a glorious conquest, but..." Where was he going with this? He shook his head and met her eyes apologetically. "Between you and me, I'm not much of a swimmer."

Her eyes narrowed, and her hand snaked around his head to grab a bunch of his hair. As he winced in pain, she pulled him in for a short, rough kiss.

"You are the only one to spurn me twice," she said, drawing away with a flush on her cheeks. "If you grow weary of the mundanity of your life, seek me out. That should prove no obstacle to one of your prowess."

"Uh-huh," he breathed. "Yeah, sure."

Her lips stretched into a smile. Pulling herself up nimbly, she gave a commanding hiss. The serpent rose and curved ponderously back into the cavern. Harry watched wistfully as it carried Mara into the darkness until the only reminder of it ever being there was the agitated waves, and then not even that.

"Congratulations, Potter, you unleashed another unholy horror upon the world—and this time, you did it on purpose!" Draco strutted up to him, obviously feeling secure now that the big bad monster was gone. "You do realize there's an ongoing investigation back home? I'll have to report everything that happened."

Harry frowned and withdrew the vial containing two fingers' worth of translucent liquid from his pocket. "Not if you want this."

Malfoy worked his jaw, then nodded grudgingly. "I might be able to omit a few details."

"Smart man." Harry cast his gaze about. Beyond the lush jungle, the blackened treetops that surrounded the ruined temple were just visible. "This place is losing its luster. What say you we find what we came here for and go home?"

"What _you_ came here for, you mean. After all that's happened, are you still hung up about your pillow?" Malfoy shook his head. "If you manage to call your phoenix, I say we leave at once."

"Your wand's somewhere in there too."

Malfoy squared his shoulders. "Lead the way."

They trudged off along the jungle path. Malfoy huffed and puffed with each step, and Harry was fit to drop himself. It took two breaks and a cold shower of conjured water before they emerged into the village.

Harry slunk toward the nearest hut and stooped to enter its curtained doorway. His gaze passed over the woven mats, an assortment of clay jars, and a low table with an unlit oil lamp. A smaller doorway in the back opened into an outdoor shower enclosed in wicker walls. All in all, it seemed like a home one only returned to sleep in.

He rummaged inside the jars and came across some dried figs. After giving one a sniff, he bit into it with relish and appropriated the entire jar. When he passed Malfoy, who rested on his haunches outside, he was even nice enough to share.

It was in the next hut that he found their belongings. The reinforced chest that they lay in had been left unlocked and thankfully lacked any wards. He slipped on his Horntail amulet, hooked the Warlock's Rod to his belt, and grimaced at his sunken-eyed, stubble-cheeked reflection in the cracked mirror before stuffing it into his pocket. That just left two wands at the bottom of the chest.

The first was a smooth hawthorn shaft of pathetic length that belonged to Malfoy. The second he wasn't sure qualified as a wand at all. After some hesitation, he picked up both. He had paid for the stick, after all—or would pay in the future, if Ikililou was to be believed. He mused idly on what that could entail, then snorted. Crossed fingers had never failed him before.

Outside, Malfoy accepted his wand gratefully and stood with a groan. "Are we good to go?"

"My waifu's still missing," he said, eyeing the unsearched huts. "The bloke who took her likely got eaten by the shoggoth. If we can't find her, we might have to summon it again and force it to regurgitate him so I can ask where he put her."

Draco gave a nervous laugh, which faltered when Harry approached the second-to-last hut without a sign of mirth on his face. "You're joking, right? Potter, _please_ tell me you're joking."

He ducked inside, cast his gaze about the interior, and pivoted to leave. "I kind of was—"

"Thank god."

"—but unless I find her soon, that might change."

Malfoy blanched. "I'll help you look."

Shoving aside the curtain of the last hut, Malfoy froze at the threshold. Harry pushed past him impatiently and halted in his tracks.

Countless drawings plastered the round walls, all depicting, in every pose and perspective imaginable, a half-woman, half-snake creature. The quality varied—which is to say, it ranged from bad to worse—but there was something eerily intense about the drawings, and not just because some of them seemed to be painted in blood. Scraps of paper and scrunched-up sketches littered the floor, and arrayed along the walls stood crude clay statues.

Harry muttered, "Well, he was nothing if not dedicated."

Malfoy stepped inside and shook his foot irritably when a scrap of paper stuck to the sole of his shoe. With an expression of distaste, he circled the room, occasionally peeling up a drawing to see another underneath.

"I wouldn't touch those if I were you," Harry remarked.

"Beyond these being the doodles of a madman, any particular reason why?"

"I get the impression the poor sod _really_ liked Mara."

Malfoy snorted. "Your powers of observation astound me."

"I don't think we're quite on the same page," he said, hiding a grin. "The bloke was obsessed. I wouldn't be surprised if he... you know." He brought a curled hand to his crotch and pantomimed stroking.

Horrified comprehension dawned on Malfoy's face, and he thrust his wand at his hand. "Scourgify, Scourgify, Scourgify!"

Harry snickered. "Yeah, it's probably all over the place."

"I don't see why you're laughing." Malfoy tiptoed toward the exit. "Just imagine what he did to your precious pillow."

His jaw sagged. "_No_."

"He probably slept with it every night," Draco said snidely, pointing at an unmade mattress. "Whispering sweet nothings as he—"

"Shut up!" Breathing heavily, he strode up to Malfoy and stuck a wand under his chin. "You shut up."

Malfoy gulped and fell silent. Harry glared at him, then swiveled toward the rubbish on the floor. He would turn this place upside down if he needed to—_wait_, he had his real wand back.

"Accio waifu!"

With a rustling noise, a heap of clothes beside the wall slid off a low chest of drawers. The topmost drawer creaked out, and a seven-meter pillowcase shot toward him, the front slapping against his chest while the rest draped across the floor.

Holding it up, he ran his eyes over his beloved lamia's crimson locks and scales and suppressed the temptation to nuzzle her with his cheek. A thorough wash was in order before that.

"You're alright now," he crooned. "The bad man can't hurt you anymore."

Malfoy observed the reunion with a disgusted fascination. "It's not that I don't approve of defending one's property, but it boggles my mind that you went halfway across the world and decimated an ancient cult over a piece of fabric."

"You'll understand once you fall in love," he said, gently rolling her up. "Now let's find a place to crash, I'm dead on my feet."

They picked out the nicest hut, warded it, and conjured some blankets. Harry feared he would have trouble falling asleep, but he conked out as soon as his head hit the balled-up shirt he used in lieu of a pillow.

* * *

It felt like he had just closed his eyes when he was awoken by a noise. A patch of pale moonlight filtering through the narrow window broke the pitch-black of the hut. A voice, barely audible above the chirping of crickets outside, was persistently calling his name. He groped around for his glasses but couldn't find them.

"Malfoy?" he whispered, squinting at the blurry shape beside the wall. No, the voice sounded nothing like his snooty drawl.

His fingers brushed something smooth and cool, and with a jolt of recognition, he flipped the hand-mirror over.

The voice grew in volume. "Harry. Harry Potter... No, he's still not answering. Harry..."

"Who?" he croaked, squinting at the mirror.

"Harry Pot—Harry, is that you? I can't see shit. Oi, Harry."

Harry came across his wand at last, and blinking groggily, made a faint light. Brandon's pudgy face in the mirror loomed uncomfortably close before pulling away and breaking into a smile.

"Man, we were starting to get worried! I've been calling you on and off since forever." Brandon snickered. "You look like a lobster. Why is it so dark? Where are you?"

"Dunno, some island in the middle of the Indian Ocean." Yawning, he summoned his glasses and slipped them on. When his vision regained clarity, he frowned at the sage-green wall behind Brandon. "Where are you?"

"Some place called St. Mungo's." Brandon glanced sideways before dropping his voice. "They just wheeled in a bloke who looks like he was stung by like a million bees and strapped him to the bed because he was _floating_. Your people get up to some freaky shit, don't they?"

He chuckled incredulously. "You have no idea. How did _you_ end up in a wizarding hospital?"

"Beats me. One moment I'm fighting robbers, the next I wake up surrounded by people in robes yelling questions." Brandon scratched his ear. "I told them about the dragon and everything. They argued about wiping my memory until some bored-looking guy in a suit said he might hire me. Told him I'd think about it. I don't fancy forgetting the coolest shit to ever happen to me, let me tell you."

"The Obliviator Headquarters want him as a consultant," said a soft, barely-there voice.

Startled, Brandon looked to his side and extended the mirror farther away. A pale, dainty face framed by raven hair entered the picture.

"Su!" Harry beamed. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Are you?" Her brow creased as she leaned closer.

"Of course, why?" He touched his cheek and winced at the soreness. "Ah, these? Just a couple bruises. You should've seen the other guy."

As Su opened her mouth, Brandon cleared his throat and proffered the mirror. By now, he had sidled as far away as the bed allowed and was blushing like a tomato. She accepted the mirror with a solemn nod and shuffled laboriously, from the look of things, to a bed on the opposite side.

"And the beard?" she asked.

"Let's just say my accommodations were lacking in the way of facilities. Do you like it? Quite wizardly, right?"

The corners of her mouth quirked up, and she tilted her hand side-to-side. He rubbed his scruffy chin and made a mental note to shave tomorrow. The view in the mirror lurched as Su settled into bed with pronounced difficulty.

"Seriously though, how are you holding up?" he asked. "The healer told me that poison was nasty stuff."

"I'll recover." She averted her gaze and pursed her lips. "They caught me off guard."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. It's difficult to fight people with such exotic weaponry... and dress." He rubbed the back of his neck.

Her peeved look faded. "Right? What an unorthodox fighting strategy."

"Hang on," he said slowly, "did you warn me because you also got distracted..." When she averted her gaze, he choked out a laugh. "Ugh, gross! You big pervert."

Her cheeks colored as she glared pointedly at him.

His lips twitched. "Alright, fair point. Anyway, I kicked their collective asses good and proper. Pass it on to your old man, will you? I won't be bringing any heads on a pike, but I hope he'll take my word for it."

Her eyebrows arched.

"Yeah, he wasn't thrilled with me after what happened to you, and it was sort of my fault. Just let him know I did my part and defended your honor." He nodded with self-satisfaction.

She brought the mirror closer. "Did father tell you to go fight a cult?"

"Well, not quite_..._ He kind of implied it... I think." He squirmed under her skeptical gaze. "We understood each other without him saying it! It's man stuff."

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Er," he said, "is your dad _not_ a badass martial artist who rips people limb from limb?"

"No_,_" she said emphatically. "He's a big softie."

He scratched his cheek. Well, this was awkward.

"He _is_ a fifth-degree black belt," she added, "but it's only a hobby to keep in shape."

He bobbed his head, more convinced than ever that he had made the right decision. "Definitely pass on the word to him."

She shook her head fondly. "Father's just... not good with people he doesn't know. He was distraught after you disappeared." She lowered her gaze and worried her lip. "We all were."

Reclining on the blanket with a groan, he held up the mirror. "Regardless, I couldn't let them go after what they did. They even stole my waifu!" He nodded at her incredulous look. "Total dick move, I know. No worries, though, I got her back. Set things to rights, saved the day, met some interesting folks. It's been quite a worthwhile trip, looking back on it." His lips curled into a smile as he recalled Mara's farewell.

"There was another one, wasn't there?"

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he gave her a blank look. "Another one?"

Her expression was unreadable. "Monster girl you had to try and save."

"What? That's ridiculous. Why would you even—" Gulping, he tried to clear his mind. Legilimency couldn't possibly work over such distance, could it? "Um. Not _exactly_."

She sighed. "Tell me there were no world-ending threats this time."

"Um," he hedged, watching her eyes go wide. "Long story short, it's been taken care of."

The mirror trembled slightly as she took a deep breath. "Harry."

"Y-yeah?"

"I have time."

He took in the stubborn set of her chin, sighed, and dragged himself over to the window. Angling the mirror so the moonlight would fall upon it, he extinguished his wand. "Ever hear of the Cult of Mara? It's like this..."


	26. Rogue, Part 1

Harry led his chitchatting guests from a clearing that served as a convenient Apparition point and deeper into the forest. The trail was mushy after spring rains, but not too badly so, and the distance wasn't great. If one knew where to look, the tower's slanted spire could already be seen between the treetops.

"I reckon I see it now," Sirius said, craning his neck.

Tony, Cedric, Malfoy, and Hermione all quieted and followed his gaze. Su sent Harry an excited look before grasping his hand and pulling him onward. Grinning at her enthusiasm, he followed her along the curving trail until they emerged in another glade and the tower appeared before them in all its glory.

Rugged walls of unassuming grey stone rose four storeys to projecting battlements capped with a wide-brimmed, cone-shaped roof, whose slightly bent spire peaked above the surrounding trees. Small rounded balconies supported by corbels were attached to some of the upper storeys. The windows were latticed and narrow to keep true to the look, but that was only from the outside.

Harry gave the tower a fond once-over and faced the group. His anticipatory smile lessened at the distinct lack of awe on their faces. "There it is. Built to order by questionably legal Eastern European labor and enchanted by yours truly. Not that there's any magic holding this baby up—just good old English stone."

"It's... very nice, Harry," Hermione said neutrally.

"Just nice? Come on, give me your honest impressions. Anything that stands out?" He grinned at her expectantly.

"Um..." Hermione appeared a little panicked as her eyes roved the tower. "The roof—it's very unusual, isn't it?" Her brows furrowed. "Is it _meant_ to sag like that?"

Cedric tilted his head back. "Sort of looks like a pointy hat."

"Well spotted!" Harry said happily. "Pretty cool, right? Got that wizardly motif going and all."

"It looks like some weird mushroom to me." Hermione winced at his fading smile. "Sorry, you asked for honesty."

Scowling, Harry turned to the others.

"Well, it's certainly big," Tony said innocently. "Stone-hard, too."

Sirius barked a laugh. "I did ask if he wasn't compensating for something."

"Yeah, yeah, very witty," Harry grumbled. "You guys suck."

Hermione pursed her lips. "You have to admit, building yourself a tower in the middle of nowhere is unconventional."

"The Lovegoods live in a tower," he said, crossing his arms.

Hermione sent him a flat look. "The Lovegoods aren't exactly the epitome of normalcy."

Harry shook his head; this lot were a lost cause. He looked hopefully at Su, who was staring at the tower with—_yes_, now there was the awe he had been looking for.

"You like it?" he asked, a little anxious.

She turned his way and breathed, "It's brilliant."

"It _is_?" He beamed. "I mean, yeah, of course it's brilliant! Designed it myself and all. Just wait till you see inside." He took off toward the entrance.

Tony caught up to him and fell in step. "Gotta say, though, it's more restrained than I expected. No spikes, no skulls, not even a glowy crystal or two? I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed."

"I was going for that understated look," Harry said in the tone of an expert. "All sophisticated like." He pointedly ignored the snort behind his back.

"How much did this monstrosity cost you, Potter?" Malfoy piped up, eyeing the tower speculatively. "Cheap labor or not, I imagine building something like this would set you back quite an amount."

"Er, you know..." He lowered his voice. "About twenty thousand."

"Muggle pounds, right?" Malfoy asked with a note of hope.

"Galleons, obviously." He ended up going over his budget—a couple of times, in fact—but the result was worth it, if he could say so himself.

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Twenty thousand... That's insane. For that much, you could've bought yourself a mansion."

"Bah." Harry jogged up the seven stone steps that lead to a sturdy front door and drew his wand. "You'll change your tune when we go to war with the goblins and your fancy manor lies in shambles while I laugh as I rain fiery death upon them from my battlements."

"Don't be ridiculous," Malfoy scoffed. "Goblin relations are better than they've been in centuries."

"So that's what the public thinks," Su murmured offhandedly.

"What do you mean? Does your department know something we don't?" Draco laughed nervously as the silence stretched on. "Please tell me you're joking, Li."

"I'm joking," she deadpanned.

"Thank god." Malfoy eyed Su's inscrutable expression before leaning in to whisper to Harry. "She _is_ joking, right?"

Harry laughed as he tapped the iron studs on the reinforced door in a special pattern until the lock clicked and it swung inward. He waved everyone through, gave the overgrown glade a critical look, and stepping inside, shut the door.

Smokeless sconces mounted on mortared stone walls lit up of their own accord. A hardwood-floored hallway led to a spiral staircase at the center of the tower before opening into a kitchen that took up most of the ground floor. Two doors along the way opened into a cupboard and a bathroom.

Harry inhaled deeply and smiled at the faint smell of varnish and fresh wood. "Alright, grab some slippers and come on in."

Half a dozen sets of feet pattered across the floor to follow him into the kitchen. The semicircle-shaped room was illuminated by windows that were markedly larger than the slits on the outside.

Hermione hefted a small bag. "I brought some food."

"Brilliant, thanks." Harry took it off her hands and laid it on the counter.

Su produced a fabric-wrapped package. "Me too."

"Cheers, Su." Smiling, he put it next to Hermione's.

Malfoy coughed and offered him a large dark bottle. "Congratulations on moving in, Potter," he said stiffly.

"Aww, Draco, you shouldn't have!" Harry spread his arms for a hug, but Malfoy only stared at him as if he had grown another head, so he settled for a double-handed handshake. "Seriously, that's so sweet of you."

"You're welcome—er, that's quite enough." Malfoy extricated his hand and took a step backward as if fearing Harry would pounce on him.

Su pouted. "Why such a difference in treatment?"

"Because it annoys him." Grinning, he curled an arm around her slim waist and pecked her on the cheek. "Grab a drink from the fridge if you want, and I'll give you a tour."

Sirius and Tony promptly took him up on his offer and raided the refrigerator, while Cedric eyed the Muggle contraption curiously. "You have electricity here?"

"What am I, a barbarian?" he said indignantly. "'Course I have electricity. It's partly why this cost me so much—undergrounding utilities isn't cheap. Anyway, come on up." He made for the spiral staircase, his steps thudding hollowly as he passed over a hidden trapdoor into the basement.

Everyone trooped to the first floor. At a twirl of Harry's wand, the curtains on the windows parted, and daylight flooded into a vast circular room with a large fireplace, curved bookshelves, cushy armchairs, and a sturdy writing desk. A wedge-shaped part of the room that was separated from the rest by sleek glass shelves housed his Muggle paraphernalia.

He swept his arms out. "Living room and study."

"Not bad, not bad at all." Draco walked up to pat his basilisk-hide couch appreciatively. "Too bad the Muggle toys ruin the atmosphere."

"Not everyone can live like it's the eighteenth century," he said without malice. "I have to, like, keep up with the news and educate myself on the current issues."

"That's really admirable," Hermione said, wandering off to his Muggle corner. "It's hard to believe how out of touch wizards can..." She trailed off as she took in the figurines inside the display shelves. "This is, um, quite a collection."

Harry graciously inclined his head. "Thank you."

"Oh, did you get some new ones?" Tony joined Hermione by the shelves and shamelessly stooped to peek under the dress of a blonde girl eating a donut. "No band-aid? Talk about not staying faithful to canon."

Hermione's brow knitted as she regarded the figurine in question. "This girl is hardly wearing anything, and she looks rather... young."

"It's okay," Su said. "She's actually five hundred years old."

Harry glanced at her suspiciously, but she appeared perfectly serious. "Well, she _is_," he said defensively. "Five hundred and ninety-eight, to be exact."

Hermione sent him a skeptical look before resuming her inspection. "If you say so. Um, what about this one? She's literally naked besides covering herself with her tail."

"You can't apply human standards to a harvest deity." Forcing his lips into a smile, he walked up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Let's move on, shall we?"

Hermione cast an inquisitive glance back at the shelves but allowed herself to be ushered toward the staircase. When he trudged upstairs, she fell back to engage Su in a hushed conversation. He made a mental note to steer Padma away from his collection when he invited her after her trip to the Netherlands. Wouldn't want to shatter her innocent pureblood mind.

"Bedrooms and a bathroom," he said on the second floor. "Not much to see here."

Sirius stuck his head through the bathroom door and whistled. "That's practically a swimming pool."

Su stood on her tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. "Looks familiar."

Harry's gaze lingered on her stockinged legs under the hem of her robes. "Modeled it after the Prefect's Bathroom, minus the pesky enchanted steam." He dropped his voice. "Fancy giving it, uh, a trial run tonight?"

The corners of her mouth quirked up as she faced him and gave a slight nod. Sirius smirked and opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by an exclamation from the master bedroom.

"What is _that_?"

"It's called a body pillow, Diggory," Malfoy said in a knowing tone. "One that Potter happens to be unhealthily attached to."

Questioning his decision to invite the normies, Harry traipsed over to find Cedric staring at the seven meters of clean and soft—if slightly faded—lamia coiled atop his bed.

"Did no one tell you it's rude to gawk at another man's waifu?" Sending the lamia an affectionate look, he gently shut the bedroom door. "Let's go up."

The third floor only had stacks of unopened or empty boxes, abandoned construction tools, and an ornate bird perch, currently unoccupied.

"I'm thinking of building something like a runic workshop here," he said, his voice echoing in the empty space. "Maybe a potions laboratory."

"Didn't take you for a potioneer," Malfoy remarked.

He shrugged. "I just figured a proper wizard tower has to have a potion lab. You know, for the ambience. Creepy ingredients in dusty jars, glowy liquids, fancy bottles, all that jazz."

Su nodded emphatically.

He sent her a surprised look before grinning. "Then it's decided. Now let's go to the roof—I've got something cool to show you."

He climbed the stairs in semi-darkness until his raised hand wedged against a trapdoor. Grunting, he pushed it open. Light streamed in, and a cool wind howled down the staircase. He stepped out into the battlements under the sloped roof and waited for the others to make their way up.

"Check these out," he said, gesturing at the openings in the floor before the merlons. "Machicolations, for when the enemy gets close! Brilliant, isn't it?"

Hermione leaned forward to peer at the distant ground. "Seems a bit dangerous."

"Pfft. To any fool assaulting this place, maybe."

Crouching before a crenel, Sirius took a slurp from the can of pop he had appropriated. "Shame the roof blocks the view."

"Oh, ye of little faith." Harry produced his wand. "Is this a magical tower or not? Hold on to your hats."

He swished his wand. A vertical seam appeared across the roof, widening with a whir of unseen gears until one half of the roof slid over the other to a chorus of suitably impressed _oohs_ and _aahs_.

He inhaled the crisp air and swept his gaze over the landscape. To the right, the expanse of trees stretched toward the horizon, only broken up by a nearby stream. To the left, the forest eventually gave way to fields, and the spire of the church at Godric's Hollow was just visible behind the treetops.

"Figured I could put a telescope here or whatever," he said, turning to the others. "And it's a large enough landing spot for any flight-minded guests."

Tony said in an undertone, "Do you reckon..."

He smiled wistfully. "Just in case."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Flight-minded guests?"

"Just a figure of speech," Harry said nonchalantly.

Tony looked out into the forest. "The view is nice, I admit, but I never expected you of all people to want to live in the woods."

He pulled a face. "Compromises had to be made. I planned on London, but Muggles would never leave something disguised as an abandoned water tower alone, and I'd have to be careful about magic. Out here, I still have everything I need and civilization is just one Apparition away."

"Now you're thinking like a wizard," Draco said. "It's beyond me why anyone would willingly cram themselves into those beehives Muggles call cities."

"You sound like my dear mother," Sirius said, chuckling. "Not a day passed without her ranting about Muggles, yet moving out never crossed her mind. I'm convinced she loved having a steady supply of things to bitch about." Shielding his eyes, he peered at the spire in the distance. His expression softened as he faced Harry. "I never expected you to actually go and do this. Can't say I understand, but I'm happy that you're happy."

Harry smiled. "Cheers, Sirius."

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, can I get a decent drink in this house? This"—he glanced at his can—"Dr. Pepper is rotting my teeth as we speak."

"The drink of intellectuals is wasted on you," Harry said, shaking his head ruefully. "There's butterbeer down in the pantry. And, uh, water." At Sirius's unimpressed look, he added, "It's good for you."

"Slim pickings, isn't it?" Sirius glanced at Malfoy. "What was that you brought?"

"Elf wine." Malfoy stuck up his nose. "Decade-old vintage."

"It'll have to do." Brightening, Sirius started for the trapdoor. "Let's crack it open and see if Malfoys' cellar deserves its reputation."

"Allow me to handle it," Malfoy said, hurrying after him. "It should be aerated before drinking."

"So it's a really fancy wine?" Hermione asked, sounding intrigued. "I want to see this."

The three of them filed down the trapdoor. Tony glanced at Harry, then at Su, who was leaning on the battlements, and followed suit with a grin. Su didn't seem to have noticed the others leave as she watched the forest with a dreamy expression, the wind tugging at her ponytail.

Walking up to her, Harry hugged her from behind and inhaled the flowery scent of her hair. She gave a soft noise of startlement before leaning into him.

"You seem to like the place," he said.

"Mm."

"Not to complain, but how come? I almost expected you to make fun of it like those plebeians."

She cast him a fleeting glance. "It's silly."

"Oh? Now I _have_ to hear it." He smirked and tightened his hold. "I'm not letting go until you tell me."

She wriggled in his arms and pouted in mock resignation. "I used to sneak mother's romance novels to read under the sheets. One I found particularly... memorable." Her cheeks pinkened as she gazed into the distance. "It was about a farm girl who went into a forest to gather herbs for her sick mother. An evil wizard caught her stealing from his garden, and she ended up serving in his tower to pay him back."

He snorted. "Oh, it's one of _those_. Let me guess: the wizard was totally handsome, she melted his cold heart, yada yada, they lived happily ever after."

She heaved a sigh. "Something like that." Disengaging from his embrace, she headed for the trapdoor without a backward glance.

Furrowing his brows, he followed her downstairs. What had her so miffed? He opened his mouth but couldn't think of what to say, and before he knew it, they arrived at the kitchen, where the others were already sipping the wine.

Su unwrapped the package she had brought and laid out some finger foods, which everyone dug into with gusto. Hermione's vegan offerings were less well-received, although Tony munched gamely on the cauliflower nuggets while nodding to her lecture on the unsustainability of the meat industry.

Harry tried to catch Su's eye as he got more plates out of the cupboard. Her inscrutable dark eyes met his, and she pinched a spring roll off a plate and proffered it to him. Maybe she wasn't upset after all.

He made a show of crunching down on it. "That's delicious."

She smiled selected another morsel. "Try a steamed bun."

"Mm..." He sucked in air through his mouth to cool the generous bite he had taken. "Nice."

She tutted and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.

"Ugh," Tony said, "at least you two had the decency to wait until after Hogwarts before getting together. I'd barf if I had to watch this every day."

Harry grabbed a roll and chucked it at Tony, who ducked with a snort. A cold shiver went down his back, and he turned to find Su glaring at him. "Sorry. Force of habit—won't happen again."

She contemplated him, then nodded and offered him another roll. He exhaled in relief and stooped to eat it from her hand, causing her eyes to crinkle in amusement.

"Well, it's obvious who's wearing the trousers in that relationship," Sirius quipped.

Harry flipped him the bird amid general laughter and swallowed the roll. His gaze lingered on Cedric, who had been staring at his half-filled glass without so much as cracking a smile.

"Why the long face? Don't tell me you're getting jitters about our exhibition game."

"Huh?" Cedric lifted his gaze and blinked. "Oh. No, just—just a little distracted, is all."

"Well, you better shape up," Malfoy said snootily. "I put ten Galleons on your team winning by at least fifty points."

"Betting on a charity match? Bad form, mate." Sirius leaned closer and dropped his voice. "What are the odds?"

"Without handicaps, two to one in Puddlemere's favor," Malfoy said. "Can you believe the bookies are rating Potter's ragtag celebrity team that high? There's bank to be made."

Harry crossed his arms. "If you bet on us, maybe. Bagman still has a decent arm on him, believe it or not. He'll keep their Chasers busy long enough for me to trounce this bloke." He jabbed his thumb at Cedric. "No offense."

Cedric laughed nervously. "Go easy on me, mate."

"You can't be serious," Malfoy scoffed. "Potter hasn't played for years, never mind professionally. Stop making me nervous, Diggory."

"Right." Cedric considered his glass, downed it in a couple of gulps, and sprang to his feet. "You know what, I better go."

Harry frowned. "But you just got here."

"Got to rest up before the match," Cedric said, shaking his hand. "Thanks again for inviting me. It's a nice house—um, tower."

He groaned. "Man, Cho's got you by the balls, doesn't she?"

"She's not..." Cedric grimaced. "Something like that. Can I use your Floo?"

"Sure," he said, sighing, "it's just upstairs."

He preceded Cedric up one floor and fired up the Floo. Cedric stepped toward the shimmering emerald flames before pausing.

"Just out of curiosity," he said, "that potion I took... is it possible to redo it? Try for a different animal?"

"If only," Harry said mournfully. "Hang on, why would _you_ want to—"

"Never mind," Cedric said, and stepped into the grate. "See you at the game." Murmuring his destination, he vanished in a whoosh.

Harry frowned at the emerald flames in puzzlement until Sirius's roaring laughter drifted from downstairs. Shrugging, he went to rejoin the others.

* * *

It was dark by the time the party winded down and the guests gathered before the fireplace. Sirius bid Harry an emotional farewell, which he returned good-naturedly. After expressing dismay at the state of Harry's (nonexistent) drink cabinet, his godfather had gone to fetch some Firewhisky and valiantly led the effort to finish it, leaving him quite tipsy.

Tony entered the grate alongside Hermione, who was talking his ear off about one pressing issue or another, and they left together, ostensibly to continue their conversation at her place. Under different circumstances, Harry would've found the development intriguing, but given that Su had gone upstairs to run the bath, he was somewhat preoccupied.

The moment the emerald flames died down, he turned around and started for the staircase, only to halt and stare at Malfoy, who was lounging on the basilisk couch.

"You're still here?"

"Evidently," Malfoy drawled, rising to his feet. "Let's get down to business, Potter. We both know why you invited me to your little get-together."

"We do?" he said blankly.

Malfoy eyed him as if to gauge whether he was serious. "The elf? Don't tell me you've forgotten."

"Oh, that." Harry chuckled as Malfoy gave him an incredulous look. "Er, I haven't forgotten. I just trust you not to go back on your word."

Malfoy nodded self-importantly. "As you should. I've discussed the matter with him, and he's... excited at the prospect. Eager to move in and start working for you." He cleared his throat. "Dobby!"

With a soft _pop_, a child-sized creature with pointy ears and protuberant green eyes appeared before Malfoy. The eyes darted around and grew even wider as they landed on Harry.

"Harry Potter," Dobby said, clasping his spindly hands together. "Dobby is honored to be meeting you again."

"Yes, yes, you'll be able to sing praises to Potter all you want in a minute," Draco said irritably. "What do you think? Will you be alright living in a new place like this?"

Dobby's head whipped side to side, his pencil-thin nose quivering. "The house is too clean, too fresh to have memories..." As if catching himself, he whirled toward Harry. "But it feels sturdy and strong and very wizardly, Dobby thinks!"

Harry grinned. "Good eye, titch."

Draco released a breath. "Then you may come work here." He looked at Harry. "What do you call this place, anyway?"

"Er, I told the Floo witches to keep it as 'Grate Two Thousand Five Hundred Ninety-Six' until I come up with something cool. Does it matter?"

"It's not overly important," Draco said, "but house-elves love homes with history and character. You can't just give this place history, but a name might help for starters."

If Harry had any doubts about the veracity of Malfoy's words, one glance at Dobby was enough to dispel them. The titch was trembling with excitement as he peered up at him.

"Uh, wow, let me think," he said. "Warlock's Tower would be a little on the nose... Arcane Abode? Alliteration's fashionable these days... Grey Obelisk? Lone Spire?" He looked dubiously at Dobby, who tugged on his ears looking like he wanted to speak. "What's up with you?"

"Doesn't like your names, I expect," Draco said. "Elves have a feeling for such things."

"Oh," he said, a little hurt. Dobby shifted on his feet, and realizing he had unconsciously leveled a frown at him, Harry forced his face to smooth out. "What's wrong with them, exactly?"

Dobby fidgeted. "None of them are right, Harry Potter sir."

"It's up to you to decide in the end," Malfoy interjected. "Naming Seers say there's only one appropriate name for everyone and everything, but hardly anyone bothers to consult them these days." He thrust out his hand. "I believe we're done here."

"Alright," Harry said thoughtfully, shaking it. "Thanks, Draco."

Malfoy grimaced. "We had a deal. Just... take care of him." Turning around, he marched toward the fireplace.

Harry considered his stiff posture. "Draco? Don't tell me you actually _care_—"

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy said thickly as he palmed some Floo powder. "Malfoy Manor!"

Dobby bowed and did not straighten up until the roar of flames died down. "Young master was not a bad master," he said. "But working for the great Harry Potter has been Dobby's dream for years—ever since Dobby met sir all those years ago and learned of his greatness first-hand."

"Aha!" Harry smacked his fist against his palm. "I _knew_ I'd seen you somewhere! You stole my mail back then, didn't you?"

Dobby clenched his toga-like uniform—a much cleaner one than Harry recalled him wearing years back. "Dobby was foolish for ever doubting Harry Potter. Had Dobby known sir would turn the bad snake into furniture, Dobby would have never tried to block his mail and hurt him."

"Yeah, I showed that overgrown—hang on, _hurt_ me?"

Dobby nodded. "So that sir would be sent away from Hogwarts and the bad snake. Dobby is very sorry."

"It was you?" he said slowly. "When a suit of armor fell on me and Snape took ten points for molesting the castle furnishings?"

Dobby's brow knitted in thought before he happily exclaimed, "It was, sir!"

Scowling, Harry advanced on him. "The time I slipped in the Great Hall and face-planted into a gravy boat right in front of the upper-year girls?"

Dobby opened his mouth, only to gulp at the look on Harry's face and nod jerkily.

He stepped closer, looming over the elf. "When I was sneaking around the girls' showers down in the Quidditch locker room, tripped on the hem of my cloak, and nearly got caught?"

Dobby went still as a statue. "That... wasn't Dobby, sir."

"Oh." Harry blinked and lowered the hands he had been extending toward the cowering elf. "Never mind, then." That failure had been particularly disappointing at the time.

Dobby released a shaky breath. "Harry Potter is most kind. But why was sir sneaking around the witches' showers?"

He snorted. "Isn't it obvious?" Judging by the perplexed tilt of Dobby's head, it wasn't. So naive. "Er, the lock on the door was broken, so I was guarding them from perverts. Can't be too careful."

"Harry Potter is a great wizard," Dobby said, staring at him with adoration.

If Harry felt any guilt about lying (except about the lock—he played a part in its demise), it faded under the praise. "Sure am. Anyway, let's find you a place to settle in, shall we?" He pursed his lips. "Would you prefer the basement or the third floor?"

"Dobby likes high places," the house-elf chirped.

"Third floor it is, then."

Dobby nodded vigorously. "New master is the best!"

He preened. "I _am_ pretty awesome, aren't I?"

"The very awesomest, Harry Potter sir!"

"Cheers, titch." He made for the staircase with Dobby in tow. "Take it easy tonight. Explore the place if you want... uh, except the second floor, stay away from there."

"Dobby will do so. Dobby is honored to be serving the greatest wizard of his age!"

"Alright, alright, let's tone it down a little," Harry said modestly. "Keep the gratuitous flattery to three, maybe four times a day? Wouldn't want it to get old."

Dobby was silent for a minute as he hopped up the stairs. "Dobby wants five, and Dobby tries to invent new ways every week."

"You've got yourself a deal."


	27. Rogue, Part 2

Sweat dripped down Harry's brow as he rose higher and scanned the pitch. Below, in the plane favored by Chasers, a heated and largely one-sided battle was taking place between the starting lineup of Puddlemere United and his all-celebrity team Phoenix.

"Polanski passes to Griffiths," the commentator said, "back to Polanski, who ducks a Bludger—marvelous Hawkshead Attack Formation there—Griffiths again, will she pass or—_she takes the shot and sinks it_! Wagtail's too slow to the left hoop, ladies and gentlemen, and that means Puddlemere is now leading Phoenix by one hundred and forty points!"

Myron Wagtail tossed back his ridiculously long hair, causing the spectators on his end of the stadium to squeal and wave their Weird Sisters banners as if he had just made a spectacular block. Team Phoenix's Chasers led by Celestina Warbeck's daughter, Amanda, fumbled for the falling Quaffle and regrouped to mount their own attack.

A glint of gold against green near the middle of the pitch caught his eye, and turning his broom, he zoomed toward it. His gaze darted around as he lost the flitting Snitch, then glimpsed it again by the thick beams holding up the stands.

In a streak of navy-blue, Cedric rocketed in from above a dozen yards ahead. Harry flattened himself against his Firebolt to eke out every last bit of speed but knew he wouldn't make it.

"Stop him!" he yelled against the wind.

The Golden Snitch darted side to side, then plummeted toward the ground and zoomed off, almost skimming the grass. Cedric used the momentum of his dive to accelerate straight toward it while Harry cut a corner to intercept him ahead.

A dull _thunk_ resounded, and a Bludger hurtled at Cedric's back. Harry grinned savagely, only to gape when Cedric performed a Sloth Grip Roll, his hair almost brushing the ground, and the Bludger whooshed by inches above his broom.

At least the maneuver slowed him down. Harry sought out the Snitch flitting above the field and gave chase. His and Cedric's flight paths converged until they were bumping elbows. Harry kept sending him wary side-glances, yet Cedric's gaze remained fixated on the Snitch.

It was only because he kept an eye on him that he noticed him tugging his broom to the side. Harry instinctively mimicked the action, widening the gap between them by a few yards.

A Bludger whizzed through the space they had just vacated and smashed into the ground, tearing up the turf. Harry resisted the urge to glance back. How the hell had Cedric known?

Cedric yanked up his broom to follow the Snitch that had abruptly soared skyward; Harry followed a split-second later, the delay leaving him a broomstick's length behind. Now in a steep climb, Cedric stretched his hand toward the still-rising Snitch. Desperate, Harry lurched forward along his Firebolt and grabbed the tail of his broom.

The rough twigs scraped his palm as he braked hard, causing him and Cedric to spin and careen off into opposite directions. He righted his broom and flinched as a shrill whistle resounded through the pitch. Damn, they had never been this loud at Hogwarts.

"And Potter blags Diggory!" the commentator exclaimed amid the jeers of spectators. "That's two penalty shots for Puddlemere—the point difference isn't looking good for Phoenix right now!"

Harry pressed his bleeding palm to his jersey and flew closer to Cedric. "No hard feelings, eh?"

Cedric jerked and stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Huh? Oh. Right." Rubbing his forehead, he took off toward his team.

Harry watched him retreat with a frown, then flew off to take up position beside his teammates above their goalposts. Below, Myron was doing a theatrical warm-up routine to the audible delight of his fans, while in the middle of the pitch, Puddlemere's veteran Griffiths tossed the Quaffle from one hand to the other.

The judge blew his whistle, and Griffiths blasted off. Harry's hands tightened on his Firebolt as his gaze darted from her to Myron. _Come on, you buffoon_.

Halfway to the goalposts, Griffiths entered a dizzying corkscrew and launched the Quaffle from an upside-down position. Myron dashed to defend the left hoop, but the Quaffle curved to sink cleanly through the middle one.

Harry's groan joined a chorus of others. Had this bloke really played a Keeper in his Hogwarts days?

"Just like that, the score is one hundred and seventy to twenty!" the commentator cried. "Is this the end of the line for Phoenix?"

"Sorry," Amanda said from his side. "Their Chasers run such a tight defense, most of the time we don't even get to shoot."

Harry sent her a surprised glance. "No worries. We're only here to look good and raise money for St. Mungo's, right?"

"I know," she said. "It's just that you seemed really upset."

"I did?" He chuckled sheepishly. "Well, even in a friendly game like this, you can't help but want to win."

Bagman, red-faced and puffing like a steam train, maneuvered his glossy Nimbus closer. "Exactly right! It might be a decade since I was on the pitch, but I still feel like showing these youngsters that there's life in this old dog yet."

Harry watched Griffiths retrieve the Quaffle and return to the starting position for her second shot. His eyes widened as he spied a golden glint by Puddlemere's goalposts. Their team was huddling in the middle of the pitch and didn't notice. A corner of his mouth quirked up.

"We might just have a chance, but you need to score," he said in an undertone. "If Griffiths sinks this one, we'll be down a hundred and sixty."

Amanda's eyes brightened as she drifted closer. "Get that wanker Polanski out of my way, and I'll score if it kills me."

Bagman chuckled and waved to their other Beater. "You up for some Dopplebeater action, old chum?"

"I'll distract Polanski," Harry muttered, not looking away from the far end of the pitch. There was that gleam of gold again. _Stay right there, you little shit_. "It's do or die."

Griffiths charged straight at the goalposts. Myron smacked his fist into his Keeper glove and narrowed his eyes. Still she kept gathering speed. Getting much closer to the hoops than the previous time, she hooked her foot behind the shaft of her broomstick and sprang upright to heave the Quaffle. Myron lunged for it and even brushed it with the tip of his glove, but the Quaffle flew with such force that it bent his hand back and sank through the hoop nevertheless.

"Go!" Harry barked, launching himself at the enemy team.

Puddlemere's Chasers were still in the middle of assuming a defensive formation by the time he covered half the distance between them. Leaning over the broom, he set it on a collision course with Polanski. The bloke scowled and stood his ground, perhaps thinking it a bluff. Harry tried not to grin when among the whoosh of wind he heard a dual thud of bats impacting a Bludger behind him.

Polanski finally dipped lower, and Harry immediately followed suit. His back prickled as he imagined the Bludger racing toward him. The Firebolt vibrated as he pushed it to its limits.

Polanski swore and swerved out of the way. Flying too fast to adjust his course, Harry zipped past so closely that his shoulder pad grazed Polanski's broomstick. As he hurtled onward without slowing, he heard a heavy _thump _and a scream behind.

Whooping, he scanned the rapidly approaching end of the pitch. His heart plummeted when he couldn't see the Snitch—for one second, then two—until he spied it spiraling languidly around the base of the right goalpost.

A roar rose from the crowd. The commentator was yelling, but Harry's pulse was too loud in his ears to make out the words. He dived.

A shadow flitted above as Cedric swooped toward the goalpost. Where Harry went directly for the Snitch, Cedric approached the goalpost from above before nosediving. The Snitch shot up as if to meet him, then wavered and circled the goalpost like a stupid fly.

Grunting with effort, Harry leveled out of his dive at the bottom of the goalpost. His damp palms almost slipped off the handle as he yanked it up until he was flying skyward. Cedric plunged head-on at him, weaving around the goalpost with dexterity Harry could only envy to mimic the erratic fluttering of the Snitch halfway between them.

Harry's eyes watered from the wind as he stared at the Snitch with unblinking intensity. When Cedric extended his hand, he did the same. He was behind. Cedric would catch it, and they would collide—

He screamed his frustration and fear.

Cedric flinched as if waking up and corkscrewed away. Delicate metal wings brushed Harry's palm, and he grabbed on tight, feeling them flutter between his fingers.

Wrestling his broom into a horizontal position with one hand, he stared at the other. The Golden Snitch lay limp in his hold. He lifted his gaze and looked around in disbelief, just now becoming aware that the noise in the stadium had surged to almost unbearable levels.

"Team Phoenix ties Puddlemere United at one hundred eighty to one hundred eighty!" roared the commentator. "What a bold last-minute play! Listening to the audience cheer, you'd think Phoenix had won—and they certainly made a statement! What happened to Diggory back there, I wonder?"

Harry glanced around for Cedric, wondering that himself, but then his teammates mobbed him in a cheering sweaty pile. He sputtered and squirmed as Bagman slung a meaty arm around his shoulders, but stopped resisting when Amanda squeezed him in a tight hug. They descended to the pitch in a tangle of limbs, shouting over one another.

"I scored!" Amanda yelled, pink-cheeked. "Right before you caught the Snitch!"

"Brilliant!" he said, grinning ear to ear.

"Told you I could do it if Polanski was out! You should've seen his face!"

Landing on the pitch, Bagman tapped his scuffed bat against his shoulder. He looked knackered, but his eyes were gleaming. "Not much left of it after that Bludger."

Amanda laughed and slapped his shoulder. "That's not funny!"

Myron wedged into their circle and clapped Harry's back. "Spiffing job up there."

Harry sized him up before grinning and returning the gesture. "You too, mate."

"Well done, everyone—I couldn't have asked for a better team to relive my youth with." Bagman swayed on his feet and clutched Myron's shoulder for support, then waved off Amanda's exclamation of concern. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just haven't had this much exercise in a long time, if you can tell." He laughed and patted his potbelly.

They exchanged handshakes with their downcast opponents, waved to the cheering spectators, and trooped off into the locker rooms under the tune of Amanda's hit song that was chosen as their team's anthem. Some players went to have their scrapes and bruises treated, while Harry headed for the showers and luxuriated under the hot water and fragrant bubbles until what felt like a couple of bottles' worth of sweat was washed away.

Refreshed, he donned his casual robes, tucked his pointy hat under his armpit, and exited the locker rooms, only to stumble into a small crowd of reporters. Fielding their questions were Bagman, who still sounded like he was out of breath, as well as a few key players from Puddlemere United, including Cedric. Harry tried to catch his eye but was promptly blinded by the flashes of cameras. The reporters' voices blended into a din as everyone clamored for his attention.

Trying not to squint, he forced a smile. The sacrifices one had to make to look good on the papers. "One at a time, please! Everyone'll get their turn." As the flashes died down, he scanned the crowd. His smile became genuine when his gaze landed on Luna, and he gestured at her. "You, miss with the plum earrings."

"Luna Lovegood of _The Quibbler_," she chirped. "Mr. Potter, in light of your incredible catch today, many of our readers will be dying to know: do you prefer tomato sauce or brown sauce on your full English?"

"Er..." Harry furrowed his brows as he gave the question the consideration it deserved. "I'm going to have to go with brown sauce. There's already tomatoes in there, you know?"

"A compelling argument," Luna murmured, scribbling into her notebook. "Thank you very much."

Some reporters exchanged baffled glances. One asked, "What does that have to do with Quidditch?"

Luna looked up. "_Everything_."

"Yeah, man, get with the times," Harry said, snickering. He pointed at a busty brunette, who was waving her hand and bouncing in place. "Go ahead, lady with the big—um, notepad."

"Anita Castellano of _Seeker Weekly_," the woman said in lightly accented English. "Mr. Potter, you defeated a Dark Lord and slew a demon. What's next? Do you see yourself as playing Quidditch professionally?"

"Gee, I dunno," he said, failing to suppress a smug grin. "Do you think I have a shot?"

Anita nodded. "After your performance today, I believe more than one team would be happy to sign you as their Seeker."

He preened. "That's flattering, but I reckon I'll leave Quidditch to the professionals. Cedric's a friend, you see, and I wouldn't want to steal his spot on the national team."

His ribbing was met with polite laughter. Anita turned to Cedric. "And what do you say to that, Mr. Diggory?"

Cedric smiled wanly. "If Harry does take my spot, England will have a top-notch Seeker."

The press pounced on him like sharks who had caught a whiff of blood, all speaking one over another.

"Mr. Potter has no formal training. Do you still see him as—"

"Don't you think it reflects badly on Puddlemere—"

"Your results toward the end of the season have been inconsistent, even calling into question—"

"He was the stronger player today," Cedric said loudly, raising his palms. "That's all." He sidled past the crowd and toward Puddlemere's locker room.

The reporters bombarded him with questions all the way until he slammed the door in their faces. Then, as one, they all turned to Harry. It was unsettling, how they seemed to function as a single organism.

"Mr. Diggory is a friend of yours," one said. "Do you believe he went easy on you since it was an exhibition match?"

"No way, I won that fair and square," Harry scoffed. He glanced in the direction Cedric had run off in. He had, hadn't he? "That'll be all. Excuse me."

Wincing at the ensuing outcry, he eyed a spot in the hallway behind the crowd, Apparated over, and scurried to Puddlemere's locker room. The door was locked, but he let himself in with a silent _Alohomora _and sealed it shut again before anyone else could barge in.

Cedric sat on a bench and stared down at his trembling hands while a couple of his teammates hovered nearby. The subdued atmosphere was a far call from the one in Phoenix's locker room.

A burly Beater whose name Harry couldn't recall scowled and came up to meet him. "Are you lost, Potter?"

"Nah, but thanks for asking." Harry strode past the bloke and settled down beside Cedric, who barely spared him a glance. "Don't take it too hard, mate. Few Seekers can keep up with me."

Cedric snorted mirthlessly. "Yeah."

Harry frowned. "C'mon, you know I'm kidding, right? The same when I talked to that cute reporter, I didn't—"

"It's not that!" Cedric glanced at his teammates and dropped his voice. "I've been meaning to ask—can I talk to you in private? It would be best if Sirius Black was there too."

"Sirius? What do you need him for?"

"Please," Cedric said, looking him in the eye.

"Um, alright," he said, taken aback. "I was about to look for him, anyway; he was watching the game with Su and Malfoy." He chuckled. "Oh man, I can't wait to see Malfoy's face. He didn't even get close with that fifty point handicap."

Cedric cracked a perfunctory smile. "Lead the way."

The reporters still lurked outside the door, but Cedric's teammates came to the rescue and bodily held them back so they could escape. Walking down the wide hallway and out of the stadium, Harry shielded his eyes from the sun and looked around. Clumps of people lingered in the grassy fields outside, discussing the match animatedly, but Su and the rest were nowhere in sight.

The people nearby sent him and Cedric curious looks; some exclaimed and started toward them. Before they could intercept them, Harry grabbed Cedric's sleeve and Apparated them to the main entrance, around which a much larger crowd was congregating. Putting on his pointy hat low over his face, he strode past the edge of the crowd. Cedric followed without a word, looking lost in thought.

"Why'd you flinch?" Harry blurted out, unable to contain his curiosity.

Cedric glanced at him, then faced forward and gnawed on his lip. "That's... a long story. It's part of why I wanted to talk with you."

Harry dearly wanted to tell him to stop pussyfooting around and explain already, but Cedric hadn't even bothered to change out of his jersey, so they were turning heads. It was only a matter of time before they got mobbed. Harry stood on tiptoes and quickly scanned the clusters of red-and-gold amid the sea of navy-blue. Sirius and Su had worn Phoenix's colors, but they were nowhere to be seen.

"We agreed to meet by the exit," he said grumpily. "Are there more?"

"Just one," Cedric said. "Over on the other side."

He groaned. "Bloody wizarding architecture. Alright, let's check there first. If we can't find them, we'll pop to Grimmauld Place and wait for Sirius to return."

Giving the crowd a wide berth, they trekked around the oval of the stadium. It was when they rounded its south end and entered the shade cast by the towering wooden walls that a crack resounded nearby.

Startled, Harry looked around. They had left the crowd far behind and he could see no one else in the vicinity. Then a squat, grey-robed figure coalesced from the shadows by the wall, and he recoiled with a gasp.

"Mr. Potter," the Unspeakable said in a voice of indeterminate gender, "there's been a development."

"A what?" He patted his pockets for his wand. "Who are you?"

The Unspeakable stepped closer. "My identity is of least importance right now. Fennec has encountered some serious difficulties and requires your assistance."

He scowled. "I thought she was watching me play! What have you lot gotten her into?"

"We're pressed for time." The Unspeakable produced a small orb and threw it stiffly to him. "All will be answered after you take this Portkey."

Catching it reflexively, Harry turned it over in his palm. The engraved orb was rather more elaborate than the inconspicuous rubbish wizards preferred to use for one-time Portkeys. Frowning, he opened his mouth, but the engravings flared blindingly, and his body lost all strength. The last thing he recalled as he slumped to the ground was a flash of crimson from the wand in the Unspeakable's gloved hand.


	28. Rogue, Part 3

Harry rested the back of his head against the cool stone wall and watched Cedric pace in the adjacent cell. Aside from being—well, _cells_—they weren't too uncomfortable. Dry, decently lit by floating candles, spotless—it didn't feel like they were used often, if ever. Beyond the thick steel bars, a cave-like passage curved off into the shadows. Wherever this was, it looked nothing like the Ministry.

"What the hell!" Cedric clutched the bars so hard his knuckles went white. "What the hell's going on?"

"Dunno," Harry said dully.

Cedric released an explosive breath and resumed pacing. "One moment you're talking to that Unspeakable, the next I wake up here"—he gestured at the brown gown that barely reached his knees—"as good as stripped naked!"

"Spare me the recap. I was there too." The coarse fabric chafed as he shifted his legs. His outfit matched Cedric's except for a smooth metal collar around his neck that he had nearly strangled himself with while trying to get it off.

"That's the thing, isn't it?" Cedric halted to glare at him. "Every time, _every goddamn time _something awful happens, you're involved. I'd bet my right arm this is no different."

He shrugged. "I mean, it _could_ be your Quidditch groupies looking to have a wild orgy—"

"I can't believe you're joking about this! You're so bloody..." Groaning, Cedric pushed off the bars separating the cells, slumped against the wall, and slid to the floor. He sat silent for a minute, his head ducked and his face set in a scowl. "Sorry."

Harry grunted noncommittally.

"Look, I know it's not your fault. It's just..." Cedric raked a hand through his blond hair. "How can you be so calm about this?"

He met his gaze. "I'm not calm, I'm bloody pissed off. There's just no point in wasting energy. Whoever did this left us alive, meaning they want something from us. Until the mysterious fucker makes an appearance, there's nothing to do but wait."

"Wish I had your composure," Cedric said, shaking his head.

"Comes with experience," he quipped mirthlessly.

"You've been in worse situations, yeah?" Cedric said, perking up. "There must be _something_ you can do."

"Mate, we've been over this." He shifted again; with only one layer of fabric separating him from the floor, his arse was freezing. The Unspeakable had even taken off their underwear, which had some unpleasant implications, to say the least. "I got nothing."

"Shit!" Cedric slammed his fists against the floor, then buried his face in his palms.

Harry watched a sputtering candle float by overhead as he tried once more to think of a way out. His brow furrowed. "I don't have anything," he said slowly. "But you do."

Lowering his palms, Cedric stared at him with bloodshot eyes. "What are you on about?"

"You're an Animagus." Harry sprang up and walked to the bars. Why hadn't he realized it sooner? "With a form powerful enough to level this entire place!"

A look of dismay came over Cedric's face. "Harry, I... I'm sorry." He looked away. "I can't."

"Of course you can, I've bloody _seen_ you—"

"I tried! I really have, but..." Cedric shook his head frantically. "It's why I've been off my game lately. When I'm in the air, I feel more alive than ever. Everything's so intense: the sounds, the smells... I read the wind, I dodge Bludgers before I see them..."

He frowned. "That's good, though, right?"

"Oh, it's good alright—until I snap out of it and realize it wasn't _me_ flying for the past five minutes." Cedric licked his lips. "The dragon, it's too powerful. Always lurking, waiting for its chance to take over. Never mind controlling it, I feel like I'd lose myself forever if I let it out again. I wish I never took that damned potion."

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Do you even realize how lucky you are to have that form?"

Cedric laughed hollowly. "Lucky, he says! You don't know what it's like. I get these dreams sometimes, where I am someone—some_thing_ else. Something that only knows to tear and burn and devour. Every night, I go to sleep fearing I won't wake up as myself, that Cho..." He swallowed convulsively.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered. Some people just didn't know how good they had it. "Alright. Alright, listen—don't worry about controlling it. Just transform, and I'll take care of the rest. We tracked you down halfway across the world once, and we'll do it again if need be. Trust me."

Cedric clenched his trembling hands and sent him a pleading look. "Don't ask this of me."

Gripping the bars, Harry leaned in to glare through the gap. "You asked for something we could do—well, here it is. Stop being a pansy and get us out of here, Diggory."

Cedric's mouth opened and closed as his face reddened. Nodding curtly, he closed his eyes. Harry proceeded to pace in his cell much as Cedric had. Now that they had a potential escape route, he couldn't sit still.

Cedric's breathing gradually evened out, but his eyelids kept twitching with nervous energy. Harry resisted the urge to speak on several occasions as he alternated between pacing and watching him.

After what felt like hours, Cedric groaned and slapped his cheeks. "I can't."

Harry sucked in air through his teeth. "You did it before."

Cedric threw his arms up. "It was a traumatic experience, alright? I couldn't look my wife in the eye for weeks!"

"You don't know shit about traumatic. Learning that your life is best represented by an object of universal revulsion is traumatic, shagging a dragon is... it's..." He gestured wildly. "It's metal as fuck!"

"Metal as fuck," Cedric repeated flatly.

"Well, yeah." He hesitated before grudgingly admitting, "You wouldn't believe how jealous I am."

Cedric shot to his feet. "Of what, being trapped inside an enormous killing machine? It's only sheer luck that no one died! All it would've taken was one Muggle looking at me the wrong way, making a little too much noise, and..." He looked down at his shaking hands. "Their deaths would've been on me."

"Oh, get over yourself! You'll never be able to transform if you're afraid of your other form." Harry raised his palm to stall Cedric's retort. "Because that's what it is, see? It's already a part of you, there's nothing to be—"

"Funny, that you'd lecture me on this," Cedric said, striding up to the bars. "The way your godfather tells it, you drank the potion too—"

"Did he blab about it?" Harry scowled. "That wanker, he promised—"

"Gentlemen, please. There's work to be done, and it will go a lot smoother if we all behave like civilized adults."

Harry's and Cedric's heads whipped toward the source of the voice. A stocky grey-robed figure stood outside the cells, and although there was only darkness where its face would be, Harry somehow knew it wore a sneer.

"The one responsible for your imprisonment, after all, is none other than yours truly," the Unspeakable continued, "so there is really no sense in bickering among yourselves."

"Who are you?" Cedric demanded, coming closer. "What do you want with us?"

The Unspeakable's cowl turned in his direction. "The one I want something from is Mr. Potter; we'll get down to the particulars in a moment. Your presence here is largely coincidental, Mr. Diggory."

"Neither of us has done anything to deserve being treated like this!" Cedric glanced at Harry. "At least _I_ haven't, and if Harry did something, I'm sure he'll make amends. Let us go!"

"Come now, don't sell yourself short. Triwizard Champion. Demonslayer. England's up-and-coming star Seeker. There are plenty of reasons why those less fortunate than yourself would wish you ill." The Unspeakable chuckled. "Not that my motives have anything to do with extortion or sabotage, heavens forbid."

"Then why..." Scowling, Cedric shook his head. "Whoever you are, you won't get away with this! My teammates will have raised the alarm—not to mention, you kidnapped the most famous wizard in Britain—"

The Unspeakable reached a gloved hand into his sleeve. "Indoor voice, if you please. I do so dislike dramatics." The hand reemerged clutching a stubby wand.

A chill ran down Harry's spine. "Cedric."

"—the Aurors must be looking for us as we speak, you demented—"

The Unspeakable's wand jabbed forward. "Crucio."

Cedric's rant cut off as his voice rose into a scream. His body seized up, and he slumped over and thrashed on the ground.

Harry lunged at the bars. "Stop! Stop it!"

Giving no indication of having heard him, the Unspeakable kept the curse up for several long seconds before pulling his wand aside and leaving Cedric twitching on the floor. "This does not bring me pleasure, I assure you. It's only that pain tends to drive the point home the fastest. Have I made myself clear?"

Cedric groaned feebly, his eyes narrowing at his tormentor.

"_Cedric,_" Harry hissed.

"Well, Mr. Diggory?"

"Yes," Cedric spat.

The Unspeakable clapped his hands. "Jolly good! Please try to remember that before you speak out of turn." He faced Harry. "You've been awfully quiet, Mr. Potter. No threats to issue? No pleading, no wisecracks? Knowing what I know about you, I admit this is not what I expected."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Harry said, trying to steady his voice.

"Perils of being a national figure," the Unspeakable said. "I intend to keep my identity secret, I'm afraid."

He stared into the darkness under the cowl before sighing. "How are you keeping my phoenix away?"

The Unspeakable tilted his head. "Out of all things you could ask me, _that_ is the first?"

He shrugged. "You wouldn't say that if you knew what a pain in the arse she can be. I'd pay dearly for a chance to have some peace and quiet on occasion."

"What an unusual attitude toward a phoenix... To answer your question, Mr. Potter, this is the work of an obscure ward hidden away in our archives." The Unspeakable spread his arms. "You're welcome to it after you do me a favor."

So Cedric had been right, not that it came as a surprise. "Not so fast. Is Su involved, or was that a lie?"

"Mind your tone, Mr. Potter." The Unspeakable tapped his wand against his glove. "Miss Li is entirely oblivious to the situation. For all I know, she is wondering right now whether her beau ditched her for a pretty starlet."

He frowned but didn't rise to the bait. "Alright, let's hear it. What's the favor?"

"Nothing too strenuous for one of your talents, I assure you." Was it just Harry's imagination, or was there a note of bitterness in the nondescript voice? "I need you to summon a demon and bind it to my will."

Harry's jaw sagged. "A demon. You want me to summon a demon." He barked a laugh. "Are you out of your bloody mind? Weren't you there the last time?"

"It's precisely because I was there that we're talking now," the Unspeakable said. "For decades, I've been gathering knowledge grain by grain, ever so careful not to overstep any boundaries. Perhaps my ambition would have died with me, had I not witnessed your feat. A singular confluence of chance, circumstance, and utter lunacy that it was, you achieved something I hardly dared to dream about."

Yep, definitely bitterness. "Fucking hell, it's not a competition! I'm not for censoring magic, but some things are best left alone." He rubbed his left wrist. "You can't reason with them, and you certainly can't control them. Whatever world domination fantasy you're entertaining will end with you as demon chow."

"You think me a storybook villain, whereas I'm simply... raging against the dying of the light, as it were." The cowl dipped as the person behind stared at his hands. "Every morning it gets harder to rise from bed. Mind's not what it used to be. Eyesight's failing. The obscuring uniform is a blessing; I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror these days."

Harry's eyebrows rose higher and higher as the Unspeakable ranted. "What are you on about?"

"Age. I don't expect you to understand; not now, and perhaps never." The Unspeakable produced a sheaf of parchment and lifted it to his cowl. "Mediwizard Finch performing emergency treatment on Harry Potter following the Broken Armageddon event. Intestinal perforations from penetrating trauma. Right-hand D2 amputated at distal phalanx, D3 at proximal phalanx, D4 at middle phalanx. Retrieval impossible."

"Phalanx?" Harry mouthed.

"Finger bones," Cedric said weakly. "Keepers break 'em all the time."

The Unspeakable flipped to the next parchment. "Fennec's report from Russia. H.P. lost a hand in combat against Lilith-class, target eliminated... Pithy as always." Rolling up the sheaf, he straightened up. "You've developed a habit of losing body parts—yet mere months later, here you stand, hale and whole. I don't know what price you paid or how you ended up fighting your benefactor, but the result is evident to anyone who bothers to look."

Harry sputtered. "You think—you seriously think I made a _deal_ with it? That's ludicrous!"

The Unspeakable wagged the sheaf at him. "If not a deal, then perhaps you simply stole its regenerative powers. How else would you explain your miraculous restoration?"

He looked down at his palms. "This... it's nothing but an accident. A leftover from Voldemort's freaky blood ritual that I don't understand and have no desire to."

"You don't expect me to believe that now, do you?" the Unspeakable said in a tone one would use to admonish an unruly child. "Failed rituals invariably cause disfigurement or death from the backlash. The odds of a positive outcome arising by sheer chance aren't worth considering."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. The questionably legal books in Grimmauld Place's library said the same thing. "But it's true," he whinged.

The Unspeakable sighed and deposited the parchments into his pocket. "So you would enjoy your undeserved gifts while denying them to others. Truth be told, I never expected you to cooperate without further motivation, but one has to try. Remember, it was you who forced my hand." In an eyeblink, he thrust his wand through the bars. "Crucio."

Cedric, who had recovered enough to sit up, collapsed on his back as an agonizing scream tore from his throat.

"Bastard!" Harry slammed against the bars and stuck his arm through, but came short of reaching the grey-robe. "Let him off! It's me you want!"

Cedric's scream became a gurgle as his torment ceased. The darkness under the Unspeakable's cowl swirled as the person hidden behind regarded Harry.

"Do we have an agreement, Mr. Potter?"

Harry gripped the bars tight and glowered. He remained silent a moment too long: another sinister jet of red connected the Unspeakable's wand to Cedric's shivering form, and a hoarse cry rent the air.

"I'll do it!" Harry yelled. "Do you hear me? I'll do it, you crazy fuck!"

The Unspeakable maintained the spell for a second as if to spite him before yanking up his wand. "I do apologize for this, Mr. Diggory. It's just a matter of expediency."

"Fucking psycho," Harry said, breathing heavily. "Return my wand, and I'll show you a demon, you—"

"Now now, let's remain civil." The Unspeakable stuffed the wand up his sleeve. "Someone of your experience should know that Cruciatus exposure of that length does not cause lasting harm."

Harry swallowed back his retort. There wasn't a hint of anger in that bland voice, which was terrifying in itself. "I need my wand," he insisted. "I can't do it otherwise."

"But of course." The Unspeakable chuckled thinly at his surprise. "I couldn't possibly demand you to weave some of the most complex magic the modern age has seen without a wand. There's just a little demonstration to make before we get to that. You've wondered about the purpose of the device around your neck, surely?"

Blinking, Harry touched his fingertips to the cool metal. The Unspeakable retrieved another silvery circlet from his robes and tossed it carelessly to the ground. Making sure he had Harry's attention, he extended his right hand and made a strange gesture.

There was a _snick_ as razor-thin blades erupted from an inside groove of the circlet. Harry shuddered as he suppressed the urge to try and yank his collar off.

"If damaged severely enough, the device will activate. If you leave the perimeter I set, the device will activate. If spells are cast upon it, the device will activate." The Unspeakable paused. "Care to guess as to what will happen should I die or fall unconscious?"

Harry wrenched his gaze away from what was now a gleaming disc. "I'll no longer be the second tallest person in the room?"

"Jolly good! Masking your fear with humor; that's more along the lines of what your psychological profile suggested."

He glowered. If the bastard wasn't lying—and Harry wasn't keen on testing that—this complicated things. The collar might be vulnerable to Transfiguration, or vanishment, or freezing, or any number of things, but he wouldn't get more than one try.

"It has begun to sink in, I see," the Unspeakable said jovially. "Let us proceed. This is the sum of my research, as well as the scraps the Department reconstructed from your inconceivably successful attempt. Please make a swift study of the materials."

The Unspeakable produced an assorted stack of parchments and a familiar tome with a singed cover and deftly levitated everything through the bars. Harry glared at the shadowy cowl before snatching the stack from the air and sitting cross-legged on the floor.

He spread the parchments out. Most were notes written in a neat script of someone who had practiced penmanship for a long time. Fragments stood out to him as he skimmed them: names of historical figures, references to books, hypotheses on what runic system would be best suited to the task. There were sketches of magical circles, but even at first glance, he could tell they were rudimentary and incomplete.

The Unspeakable asked, "Does any of this ring a bell?"

Raising his gaze, Harry snorted. "You're kidding, right? Getting this far took you decades, you said so yourself. Give me some time."

"That is one thing we're in short supply of. How long is it going to take you to reproduce the ritual you carried out last year?"

He shook his head as he picked up the singed grimoire. "I don't know, weeks. Months, maybe." Cracking the code the author used was key—and that wasn't a matter of time but insight.

"You haven't been listening, Mr. Potter. Rude as Mr. Diggory was, he had a point—there must be Aurors scouring the country for you as we speak. We have no time to spare."

He threw his hands up. "Then we better pack up and call it a day. I'm not a miracle worker, pal."

He regretted his words the instant they left his mouth. As the Unspeakable drew his wand, he sprang to his feet and held up his hands.

"Alright, I get it—let's talk about this—"

An invisible force wrenched him forward and crushed him against the bars before his body was petrified from the neck down. Blinking the tears out of his eyes, he peered at the grey-robed figure through his askew glasses.

"_You did it once_," the Unspeakable said, pacing before him, "_you can do it again_. Isn't that right, Mr. Potter? I didn't want to use this, but... desperate times and all that." His gloved hand slid into his pocket and returned holding a vial of inky black liquid.

"What's... that?" Harry ground out through the bar jammed against his mouth.

"An attempt at improving the Memory Potion by our resident brewer. A most meticulous man; I went through great lengths to acquire a sample he would normally dispose of." The Unspeakable jiggled the vial, causing the liquid inside to stain the glass. "Rumor has it, the formula was inspired by your Potions-related mishap during your schooling. Alas, it is a failure: even a single drop, while providing near-perfect recall and increased mental acuity, causes delirium and coma shortly thereafter."

His eyes widened. "Don't," he pleaded. "Poisoning me won't do you any good."

"Since Broken Armageddon is the only category seven event in recent times, the Department spared no resources to reconstruct the chain of events. We have no direct proof, but our analysts speculate that _you_ were the mastermind behind the ritual, and your cronies merely joined in powering it." The Unspeakable's cowl loomed inches from Harry's face, yet the darkness inside remained impenetrable. "Let's see if this jogs your memory."

Grunting with effort, Harry tried to push away, bend his neck, _anything_, but his body remained stiff as a board. He swiveled his eyes toward Cedric. "No pressure," he gasped out, "except if you don't, we'll fucking die."

The Unspeakable stuck a hand through the bars and yanked Harry's hair to tilt back his head. A wand jab wrenched his jaw open. He gurgled as a glass tube was shoved into his mouth and its viscous contents trickled down his throat.

The Unspeakable chucked the empty vial aside and freed Harry from the petrifaction. He sank to his knees, coughing. Nothing felt out of the ordinary save for a thick syrupy taste in his mouth and a warmth in his stomach.

"I have an antidote on me that I'll give you as soon as you do your part," the Unspeakable said. "It won't undo the deleterious effects, but it will prevent further damage. Given your constitution, you should survive the experience."

Cedric dragged himself to the bars between their cells and pulled up to his knees. "Hang in there. I'm trying, I swear."

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Cedric's pale, clammy face remained as stark in his mind as when he had looked at it through the steel bars. Steel melted at temperatures upward of 1,325 degrees Celsius depending on its makeup. The iron content made it difficult to Transfigure, requiring a firm double swish as per Emeric Switch's treatise on alloys. _Heh_, switching the prophecy for a Daydream Charm had been inspired. The female pirate on the package sure had a nice pair of—

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter!"

He opened his eyes, suddenly aware that a voice had been calling him for some time. His gaze passed over the parchments strewn on the floor, and he snorted at a line that jumped out at him. Stabilizing the anchors using Egyptian? "That's just daft."

"Mr. Potter, need I remind you—"

"Be quiet." His gaze darted around the floor for a minute, or perhaps an hour, until abruptly flicking to the grey-robe. "Today is still Wednesday?"

"Yes," the Unspeakable said slowly. "But I don't see how that's—"

Harry giggled, but his mirth drained from him as quickly as it had come. Springing to his feet, he extended his hand. "My wand."

The Unspeakable's cowl dipped. "Have you finished studying the documents?"

"Rubbish, every last of them. Did you know the word 'rubbish' has no known origin? Weird, isn't it?"

Harry gazed off into space before shaking off his reverie and stepping up to the cell's door. He closed his eyes and reached out with his arcane senses. There were many enchantments there—durability, resistance to Transfiguration—but only one held the door closed. Calling on the feeling that came over him when he had successfully cast a wandless _Aguamenti_, he tried a simple Unlocking Charm.

The door clanged open. The Unspeakable froze, then fumbled for his wand and trained it on him. Heedless, Harry strolled out of his cell and right past the grey-robe.

"Bring Cedric," he said over his shoulder.

"How did... Dear me, that's fascinating. I knew I was right to count on you." Metal jangled behind him as Cedric's cell door unlocked. "Is Mr. Diggory's assistance truly necessary? I don't expect him to be very amenable."

"I need a sacrifice," Harry said, glancing back. "Feel free to take his place if you prefer."

Cedric choked out a hoarse protest, but it was quickly muted by a wave of the Unspeakable's wand. Ropes materialized out of nothingness to tie his arms and legs, and his bound body rose several feet into the air.

"If that's the role he is to play, I take it Mr. Diggory won't need the control of his limbs," the Unspeakable said genially.

"Yes, yes, well done." Harry tapped his foot, his gaze passing over Cedric's horror-stricken expression. "Where's my wand?"

"Just up ahead. Lead the way, Mr. Potter." The Unspeakable's wand swiveled from Cedric to Harry.

Harry strode into the cave without a backward glance, taking deep breaths as he did. Occlumency was about the only method to handle the cacophony of painfully vivid recollections flooding his mind.

Rounding a bend, he emerged into a vast rectangular chamber lit by more floating candles. A set of stairs carved into the stone wall led to a trapdoor in the high ceiling. Furniture was crammed into a corner—a parchment-strewn table, a closet, a bookshelf, even a bed—but most of the chamber was bare, glass-smooth floor.

Closing his eyes, Harry cast his awareness outside. The surroundings buzzed with residual magic, but it cut off right beyond the walls. Just how powerful this place's wards had to be to block all magic like that?

Approaching footsteps broke his fragile focus, and he turned to watch the Unspeakable levitate Cedric in.

"I've taken the liberty of preparing this chamber for you. It is about the size of the summoning site in the Forbidden Forest."

Harry cast a distracted look around. "It'll do."

Setting down the squirming Cedric, the Unspeakable walked up to a sturdy closet and tapped its doors, causing them to click and creak open. Harry's fingers itched at the sight of his belongings.

"Your wand," the Unspeakable said, sending the twelve inches of pine soaring into his hands. "Please refrain from reckless spellcasting; the device around your neck is highly sensitive."

The wand warmed his fingers as sparks spurted out its tip. He flicked it at the closet in a nonverbal Summoning Charm and frowned when nothing happened. "My amulet."

"This shoddy thing?" The Unspeakable looked into the closet, where a worn Horntail scale on a chain hung from a hook. "Not a speck of enchantment on it. Whatever would you need it for?"

"Personal superstition."

The Unspeakable shrugged. "So be it." The amulet floated toward him. "Anything else, Mr. Potter?"

He smiled mildly as he caught it and slung the chain over his head. "Ink."

The Unspeakable gestured at an inkwell on the table.

"_Ritual_ ink," Harry clarified.

"You would perform the summoning directly from memory? Not that I doubt your ability, Mr. Potter, but it would greatly assuage my concerns if I could check your schematic before—"

"Time constraints," he said, motioning impatiently.

"Quite right, quite right. Well... if you're certain you recall all the details. The backlash resulting even from the slightest error could vaporize us."

Harry stared coolly at the darkness under the cowl. The Unspeakable cleared his throat and twirled his wand. From a wooden chest next to the wall marched out an ornate wax-sealed pot and a set of brushes of varying size.

A twitch of Harry's wand banished the brushes, and another redirected the pot toward him. With it in tow, he strolled into the middle of the chamber. The Unspeakable gabbed something, but he didn't bother listening. How did the motions go, again? Ah, yes.

The pot's lid popped off, and a stream of black liquid snaked out to form a growing sphere mid-air. Once all the ink was out, Harry banished the pot, took a deep breath, and flourished his wand like a conductor would a baton. The sphere roiled and spat gobs of ink at the ground, where they resolved into straight-lined runes. Spaced a little too far apart, but acceptable.

Under his guidance, a dense circle of runes gradually grew around him. Frequently he would pause and frown at his handiwork, close his eyes in remembrance, and make adjustments. Since the ink could not be wiped without scrapping the entire ritual, adjustments meant additional clusters to rectify the previous ones, and what started as concentric circles soon turned into a tangled web, some runes so tiny to fit in the gaps that they were barely legible.

He wiped his damp forehead, the coarse fabric of his sleeve not doing much good, then aimed his wand at his face before recalling the Unspeakable's warning. He had no desire to find out if Dr. Guillotin had been right about the painlessness of decapitation. Sighing, he tried to focus his swimming vision.

"Too many mismatches," he muttered, pivoting on the spot. "Time lag... Five years, four months, twenty-five days... Prime." He smiled at the stroke of good luck. "Distance... unknown. Likely within the country." Grimacing, he flicked his wand at the edge of the web to add three lines of runes extending outward. "Weight difference... unknown. Discrepancy in species? General symbolism the same, effect unpredictable..."

His wand snapped into motion, causing more ink to splash on the floor, then stilled at an awkward angle. Only a blob remained of the black sphere, and the tightly packed runes extended halfway to the walls. His eyes darted about, taking in the entire picture. He rubbed his nose as the odor of the ink threatened to make him sneeze.

"Remarkable." The Unspeakable inched toward the jet-black web and stooped. "I recognize elements of sacrifice and a call to something beyond our dimension, but I'm entirely unable to follow your train of thought. I daresay it would take our best experts months to make sense of all the iterations."

Harry pinched the fabric of his gown and fanned it back and forth. "Subpar, but functional. Shall I proceed?"

"Yes... yes, by all means." The Unspeakable took several steps back. "Goodness gracious, to witness such magic first-hand! It is regrettable that our partnership won't last beyond this, Mr. Potter. We could've accomplished great things together."

Not acknowledging the babbling fool, Harry pointed his wand at Cedric, who had been watching him from his position on the ground with wide eyes. As his bound body floated up, he struggled and moved his lips soundlessly. Harry levitated him into an irregular circle that had been left bare amid the crawling runes and undid the Silencing Charm.

"Snap out of it!" Cedric did a double-take at the sound of his own voice, then sent Harry an imploring look. "Harry, please, think of what you're doing. This isn't you!"

"Were you serious about regretting drinking Sirius's potion?" Harry tittered and scratched his eyebrow with the butt of his wand.

"I was," Cedric said warily. "You're not still mad about that, are you? Harry, I _tried_."

He gave it some thought. "A bit, maybe, but that's no longer relevant." A wiggle of his wand made the blob of ink that had been hovering mid-air splash across Cedric's chest in an 'X'.

Cedric ducked his head and stared. "What is this?"

"_Gebo_. Gift, sacrifice, exchange." Harry cast a sweeping gaze over the web, then gestured at a cluster of squiggly runes by the edge near the Unspeakable. "Activate it."

The Unspeakable shuffled closer and crouched with a groan. "_Laguz_, I take it? A fairly standard sequence..." The obscuring cowl tilted to consider Harry. "Please keep the terms of our deal in mind, Mr. Potter. You're not to negotiate with the entity yourself. Should you double-cross me, even your regenerative powers won't help you."

"The collar, yes." Harry wiped his forehead again; the temperature in the chamber seemed to be rising. "Get on with it, we're losing potency every second."

"Quite right, quite right," the Unspeakable said without a hint of offense, and touched his stubby wand to the outermost rune.

A sharp light spread through the runes like fire through gunpowder as the ash of wand-quality wood within the ink flared. Harry swiveled his head to watch the clusters light up in a convoluted order. It was sloppier than he could've done given more time, but one had to adapt.

"Harry, please don't do this!" Cedric licked his lips nervously. "We haven't told anyone yet, but... Cho is expecting."

"Sacrificing a fetus in your stead would be unproductive," Harry muttered, silencing him with a wave of his wand.

The light suffused the farthest edges of the web and grew intense enough to illuminate every corner of the chamber. Dabbing the sweat off his nose, Harry grasped the Horntail scale hanging over his chest and plucked it off its chain.

He clenched his wand between his teeth so he could use both hands and struggled to break the scale in half. Then he crouched and banged it against the floor but couldn't get a solid grip on its smooth surface, and its edge sliced his palm. Straightening up, he stomped it with his heel to no avail.

"Mr. Potter?" said the Unspeakable.

Harry frowned. It had to be done bare-handed, yet he had more than his limbs at his disposal. He picked up the scale and wiped it on his gown. The human jaw could exert a respectable force for its size.

"This shouldn't hurt," he told the struggling Cedric. "Not for you."

Sticking the scale into his mouth, he took a deep breath and bit down. His left molars glanced off the adamantine material, and the edge maimed the inside of his cheek. Grimacing, he nudged the scale back and bit again. With a terrible _crunch_, something gave; pain stabbed through his jaw, and a coppery taste filled his mouth. He pulled out the stubbornly unbroken scale before spitting out blood and tooth shards.

"What are you doing?" The Unspeakable exclaimed, trying to stand.

"Don't let go!" Harry barked. "Thish ish a delicate prochedure."

Stuffing the scale back in, he trapped it between his right jaw and increased the pressure until his eyes watered. So much for the blasted thing growing brittle over the years. He raised his left hand and punched at his jaw with the heel of his palm, each impact sending agony lancing through his skull.

_Crunch_.

He must've fainted because the next thing he knew, he was on his knees. He blinked away his tears, but his surroundings remained hazy: steam was rising from the pulsing runes, turning to acrid smoke where the ink had evaporated. Drawing a breath, he choked on his blood and doubled over in a coughing fit, spraying out the contents of his mouth. Among the blood that splashed on the floor were sharp white slivers and a Sickle-sized obsidian oval.

Glowering, he fished the slick scale out of the puddle of blood and rose to his feet. A small distance ahead, Cedric spasmed on the floor as his eyes colored yellow and his pupils became slits.

"That'sh no longer necheshary," Harry chided, slinging a Stinging Hex at him.

Cedric yelped soundlessly and shook his head, his eyes fading to their usual blue. His betrayed expression barely registered with Harry, who was cramming the scale into his mouth. He nudged it around until his intact molars found purchase and bit down as hard as he could. His teary eyes flicked to the obscuring cowl of the Unspeakable—the bastard was yelling, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't understand what.

Lifting his hand to cradle his cheek, he redoubled his efforts. His eyes squeezed shut as tears ran down his cheeks. Pain was temporary. Showing that bastard up, now that was—

_Crack_.

His remaining teeth clashed so violently he nearly blacked out. He made a noise of triumph even as the razor-sharp halves of the scale mutilated his tongue. The last roar of a great beast echoed in his ears as every rune around blazed a blinding white, then abruptly died down, pungent smoke rising off the now inert web.

Resting his hands on his knees, he spat out the shards and straightened up with a moan. Cedric's eyelids fluttered as he raised his forehead off the floor. The Unspeakable pivoted this way and that as his gloved hands shook.

"I don't understand," the Unspeakable said helplessly. "Did you fail, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's lips stretched into a bloody grin. "The Eternal Warlock—_ow_—does not fail." His jaw hurt every time he moved it.

"The Eternal..." The Unspeakable shook his head. "Is the delirium setting in already, or are you just eager to part with your head? A twitch of my fingers, and the collar—"

"You mean _this_ collar?" He touched the smooth metal, and the constriction around his neck disappeared. Smirking, he bared his throat.

The shadows under the Unspeakable's cowl seemed to freeze. He slowly turned to take in the web of burnt-out runes. "Oh... My word. I don't understand how, but... well played, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you." Harry aimed his quivering wand at his jaw to numb it and moaned in relief. A healing charm took care of the lacerations in his mouth.

"Yes, well played indeed," the Unspeakable mumbled, wringing his hands. "I could've never foreseen... Jolly good."

Without warning, the Unspeakable lashed out with a purple curse. Harry conjured a wandtip shield and swatted it aside before transitioning into a Confundus Charm. Multicolored flashes lit the chamber as they attacked and parried. A floating candle got in the way of a Lung-Rupturing Curse heading Harry's way, and shielding his eyes from the spray of wax with his sleeve, he retaliated blindly. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Cedric wriggling away from the line of fire.

The Unspeakable must've seen it too, because after blocking Harry's hex, he hurled a jet of angry orange at Cedric. Jabbing his wand, Harry banished him aside before the floor where he lay an instant earlier exploded in shrapnel.

Ignoring Cedric's pained cry, Harry went on a hard offensive. Even as he cast furiously, he materialized the collar in his left hand and threw it, bending with the momentum. His aim was far from perfect, but the Unspeakable still shielded, and the collar clanged off to the ground.

A green spiral crackled forth from Harry's wand and destroyed the shield in a cloud of sparks. The follow-up Disarming Charm connected with the Unspeakable's torso, and his wand sailed into Harry's outstretched hand.

They both went still. Breathing heavily, Harry took the captured wand into his malletspace and rubbed his forehead. Sweat stung his eyes, and he had to keep blinking away tears as he kept the Unspeakable in his sights.

"I'm getting old," the Unspeakable said ruefully. "Well, no matter. There's still one card left to play."

The Unspeakable reached into his robes. Harry flung off a Stunner, but a translucent amethyst barrier materialized in its path. The Unspeakable drew out a familiar metal cube and raised it in a silent mockery.

Harry's Shieldbreaker rammed into the barrier with no more effect than his Stunner had. He cast it once more, but the green spiral again dissipated leaving no mark.

The Unspeakable laughed. "Wasted effort. What you're looking at is no banal shield but a bubble dimension with its own laws. No outside force can harm me while it's active."

Scowling, Harry paced perpendicular to the amethyst cube and tried to punch through with force, melt it with acid, and Transfigure its surface to no effect. Something warm trickled down his upper lip, and he wiped absently with his sleeve, goggling when it came away red. Huh. He didn't recall hurting his nose.

The Unspeakable laughed again and produced a small greenish vial. "An antidote. I admit to being rather frustrated at the stunt you pulled, and as such, I'm not inclined to share. Not that I expect it would do you much good at this point."

A fan of flames erupted from Harry's wand and swallowed one side of the cube. He channeled the spell for a dozen seconds before yanking his wand aside. The amethyst barrier remained unblemished. He hadn't expected the mundane flames to burn something even hellfire could not, but the act of defiance made him feel slightly better.

"Yes, that's it!" the Unspeakable said. "Even knowing it is futile, you still have to try. The instinct to survive is common to all life, after all. With your death drawing closer, surely you can see how my motivations were perfectly natural?"

"Oh, shut up." Harry pinched his bleeding nose and winced as the breath he drew through his mouth stung his chipped teeth. Keeping an eye on the Unspeakable, he trudged over to Cedric. "Finite. Alright there?"

Cedric slung off the ropes and rose with a groan. "You mad bastard, I really thought you would—hey, easy there." He steadied Harry by the shoulder. "You don't look so good."

"I don't _feel_ so good either." Lifting his hand, Harry stared as his fingers swelled and undulated. "Whoa, snakey."

"I think you need to sit down." Cedric helped Harry settle cross-legged on the ground. "Keep an eye on him while I try and find my wand."

Harry dipped his head in acknowledgment, then sniffled and wiped his nose. Ensconced in the cube, the Unspeakable prattled on, but Harry couldn't focus on the words. He settled for blowing him a raspberry, feeling like several seconds passed between him willing it and his muscles obeying.

Cedric returned and waved his wand over him. Some of Harry's aches retreated, and the smudged lenses of his glasses cleared, for all the good it did to his swimming vision.

"I'm no healer," Cedric said, his face pale and drawn. "Do we escape? Try to get him to give up the antidote? Speak to me, Harry."

"Don't dote on me," Harry drawled. "Anti-dooote."

"I'll try. Hang in there, mate." Cedric flourished his wand. "Expecto Patronum. _Shit_. Expecto Patronum!"

A translucent four-legged animal burst from his wand, scattering the silvery mist from his earlier attempt, and nuzzled his leg with its snout.

"Get help," Cedric said, shooing the badger. "Doesn't matter where, just go!"

The Patronus scuttled away through the air. Harry clapped, and his wand slipped from his fingers; fumbling for it, he stowed it away. Cedric sent him a worried glance and directed his wand at the amethyst cube.

The stone under it rippled like water and flowed away, creating a large bowl-shaped cavity, yet the cube remained suspended mid-air. Cedric's wand stilled, then moved again, shaping the liquefied stone into limbs the thickness of tree trunks that smashed at the translucent walls, drowning out the Unspeakable's laughter.

"It's not working!" Cedric's head swiveled to the trapdoor in the ceiling. "Should we—"

A ripping noise resounded, and a gust of wind scattered the floating candles. Tilting back his head, Harry shielded his eyes from the bright light pouring through an enormous tear in the ceiling. An instant later, three giant heads blocked the light, their faces hidden under shadowy cowls. It was as if wrathful gods were peering down at them in judgment. Harry whimpered and curled into a ball.

The heads drew back before a giant grey-robed figure leapt in through the tear feet-first. As if viewed through a distorted lens, it shrank as it plummeted until landing on the floor the size of a regular human. Harry rubbed his eyes, not sure if he was seeing things.

More figures dived in flutters of grey robes, aiming their wands down to land softly as if having stepped down a single stair. Murmurs filled the chamber as the Unspeakables spread out and waved their wands at the fractures that were spreading from the tear in the ceiling.

"...danger of spatial collapse..."

"...reinforce the expansion charms..."

"Harry!"

His head whipped toward a slight female figure running his way. Slumping on her knees, Su enveloped him in a hug, then drew back and pulled up her cowl. Her dark eyes peered at him with concern. He smiled to reassure her, but for some reason, it caused her to blanch.

"Finch!" she called over her shoulder.

The last of the dozen or so grey-robes to land in the chamber came over. Taking in Harry's state, he produced a wand and proceeded to poke him.

"Phalanx guy," Harry said. "Where's your spear?" He giggled loudly before moaning and clutching his jaw.

Finch tutted and pulled Harry's hand away before touching his wand to his jaw; the pain spiked briefly, then faded.

"Come on, Su, get it?" Harry pouted at her unamused look. "It's 'cause he treated my fingers—"

"I get it," she said. "What happened?"

He tilted his head as he considered the question. Where to even begin...

"Dental trauma with multiple root fractures," Finch muttered, "epistaxis, fever, impaired motor function... cause unclear..."

Su grasped Harry's hand. "Focus. What did she do to you?" At Harry's perplexed look, she gestured at the cube.

"Ma-made me drink..." Rather than the potion's name, a list of ingredients floated up in his mind. "Jobberknoll feathers, stewed Mandrake, powdered sage, snowdrop..."

Su's brow furrowed. "Memory Potion?"

He nodded vigorously. "Expiri—expere—_bad_ one."

Finch glanced at Su. "Don't tell me it was one of Doe's?" His wand traced shapes over Harry's head. "Potion toxicity would explain the symptoms... Merlin's beard, this level of concentration can't be right!"

Su looked at him with wide eyes before tapping at her ear. "Doe is needed on field," she said tightly. There was a moment of silence. "Then call him in."

Finch unclasped a wooden case from his belt and opened it to reveal a multitude of bottles and ingredients. Picking up a bezoar, he forced Harry's mouth open and unceremoniously banished it down his throat. Harry gulped reflexively, then coughed and glared.

"A bezoar is the best I can do," Finch said. "I'd need a sample of the original potion to brew a specialized antidote."

"Anti-dote." Harry giggled.

Cedric shuffled over, shadowed by another Unspeakable. "That lunatic had one." He pointed at the cube, now surrounded by a dozen grey-robes.

A skeletally thin Unspeakable standing cowl-to-cowl with the one inside was speaking. "You were sloppy, Magpie. Not only you accessed Potter's file with suspicious frequency, your requisitions made little sense given your line of work." His cowl turned fleetingly in Su's direction. "A clever young operative made the connection. We came to search your house, and as soon as a Patronus left the trunk, we had you."

"And yet you're late," Magpie said, lifting the metal cube. "Without the antidote, of which I possess the last remaining dose, Mr. Potter will perish within an hour—and no force can break this barrier, as you well know."

"I do," Croaker said.

"Then it appears we're at an impasse. Shall we negotiate?"

"You forget who you're speaking to." Croaker lifted an elaborate pocket watch on a golden chain. "Emergency access. Requesting Overseer presence."

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled as the air charged with electric tension. A rather vicious smile curved Su's lips.

"Acknowledged," said a cool female voice coming from everywhere at once. "State your cause."

"I petition to revoke Magpie's Level Nine privileges," Croaker said.

"Aye," chorused the Unspeakables, their voices ringing through the chamber.

"Aye," Su murmured as she pointed her wand at the suddenly agitated Magpie.

The watch in Croaker's hand clicked and whirred. "Consensus. Divesting unauthorized personnel of Unspeakable equipment."

A cry came from inside the barrier as Magpie's grey uniform burst into tatters, exposing her for a hunched, sallow-faced old woman in a drab sweater and slacks. She tossed the metal cube from one hand to another like a hot potato before dropping it and blowing on her palms; the barrier crumbled like glass.

Harry stared incredulously. A granny. He was kidnapped by _a granny_. This was beyond embarrassing.

Magpie blinked owlishly behind her thick-lensed spectacles. "Goodness, that would do it, I suppose." She now sounded gravelly and tired. "When was the last time Overseer was employed to strip someone of their status? The youngsters wouldn't even remember, I wager."

"Lancashire in the seventies," Croaker said, depositing the watch back into his pocket. "She gets cranky if invoked without good reason."

"Yes, yes... jolly good..." Magpie pivoted slowly as the ring of Unspeakables around her tightened. Then she abruptly raised her fist and brought it down to chuck a tiny vial at the floor.

The Unspeakables surrounding her moved, but Su was faster: she flicked her wand and pulled it back as if reeling in a fish, causing the vial to halt an inch above the ground and zoom her way.

Croaker turned to follow its path. "Nicely done, Fennec." Crimson light flashed to his side as Magpie collapsed from a Stunner.

Su caught the vial and presented it to Finch. The Mediwizard uncorked it, levitated a greenish droplet out of the whole, and waved his wand over it. Glowing tendrils emerged, coiling unto themselves and intertwining, most red in color. Harry applauded the show.

"This is a highly toxic substance by itself," Finch said. "Even if it is the antidote—of which I'm not certain—it could prove deadly in the wrong dosage."

Su raised a hand to her ear, listened for a few seconds, and looked up. "Doe's on the way."

Harry tilted his head so far back he felt dizzy. An enormous shadow loomed over the tear in the ceiling before a black-robed figure swooped into the chamber like a bird of prey. Alighting beside them without having cast a Cushioning Charm, Snape looked around with a sneer.

"Performing a ritual inside a _trunk_?" Disgust tinged his voice. "I should've known Potter would be involved in something this insane. What has he done to himself this time?"

"Experimental potion," Finch said. "It's wrecking his body."

"One of yours," Su said.

Snape looked down his beak-like nose at her. "Preposterous. I vanish every failed attempt, and any experiments are performed under the supervision of at least two others."

"Doe." Harry gaped at him, then broke into laughter. "Your codename's _Doe_." Snape's surly countenance only made him clutch his belly and laugh harder.

Snape's eyebrows rose. He snatched the vial from Finch's hand and inspected it before the light streaming from above. "This potion, what did it look like? Smell, taste, viscosity?"

Everyone turned to Harry, but he was still snickering uncontrollably.

"Uh, it was pitch-black," Cedric said. "She said it would make him remember."

Snape scowled as he brought the vial under his nose and sniffed. "And how much was Potter given?"

"About as much as you've got in there, Professor"—Cedric grimaced—"Mr. Snape."

"Indeed?" Snape stared grimly at Harry. "I'd ask how you are alive after what by all rights should've killed you twice over, but I've learned to temper my expectations when it comes to your demise, Potter." He thrust the vial at Su. "Make him drink this in its entirety."

Su accepted the vial and brought it to Harry's lips.

Finch raised a finger. "The bezoar—"

"You administered a bezoar?" Receiving a nod from the Mediwizard, Snape gestured impatiently. "Then what are you waiting for? Get it out!"

Bobbing his head, Finch jabbed his wand into the still-chuckling Harry's stomach and traced it up his breastbone.

Harry's eyes widened and he doubled over to spew up a slimy, foul-smelling bezoar. "_Urk_." He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Fuck you too."

The gunk vanished at a wave of Su's wand, and her cool hand stroked the back of his neck. "Drink," she said, bringing up the vial again.

He gulped down the bitter liquid, wincing as it washed over his broken teeth. The others fixed him with expectant stares.

"How are you feeling?" Finch asked.

"Uh... Stuff's spinnin'. Teeth ache." A flick of the Mediwizard's wand made the pain fade once more. Harry fanned himself with a hand, then tilted his head thoughtfully. "Feels a little cooler than before. It's nice."

Su took his hand in hers. "Try to..." She glanced helplessly at Snape.

"Not fall into a coma and die," Snape said dryly.

Su glared at him. "That sample should've never left your lab."

Snape's expression darkened. "Magpie dropped by a couple of months ago and drew me into a discussion about the effect of moon phases on the potency of fluxweed. She must've stolen it back then." He pursed his lips. "My bad."

"Holy shit." Harry gaped at Snape. "You _apologized_. You never apologize!"

"Contrary to what you may think, I'm perfectly capable of apologizing—when I truly am at fault, that is." Snape considered Harry sourly, then turned to Finch. "Treat him symptomatically from hereon. I wouldn't normally be optimistic, but knowing Potter, he'll no doubt be up and about and annoying us all within a week. Now excuse me, I should check in with Croaker."

Cedric eyed Snape's retreating back. "Blimey, so that's where he ended up. I would've never guessed..." He turned back to them three. "That means Harry's going to be okay, right?"

"The man knows his potions," Finch said. "If he says so, then it must be true, as unlikely as it would seem." Closing his case, he attached it to his belt and stood. "I'll be back shortly. Alert me immediately if Mr. Potter's condition changes."

Cedric exhaled and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's a relief. I owe you one, mate."

Su waited until Finch was out of earshot before addressing Cedric. "What happened?"

"I'm not so sure myself," Cedric said. "That Magpie bitch—excuse my language—told Harry to summon a demon. Wanted to make a pact with it. Thing is, it looked like Harry was playing along. He had this insane gleam in his eye..."

Su nodded knowingly.

"I thought he was going to sacrifice me, so I panicked. And then... it woke up inside me. The dragon." Cedric pulled a face. "I'm an Animagus, see. Theoretically."

Su's eyes widened, and she murmured, "Don't tell my colleagues."

"And then Harry did something." Cedric pointed at the burnt-out runes. "At first, I thought this was a sham, but... One moment the dragon was drowning me in its rage, struggling to get out, and the next, it just... went silent."

"That's because you're not an Animagus anymore," Harry crowed. "I killed the big scaly monster for you. Poof! No refunds. You _said_ you didn't mind."

Cedric gaped at him. "You _killed_ it? But how?"

"Law of Similarity." Harry jabbed his thumb at his chest. "Dragonslayer, remember? I just had to invoke the act retre—recro—"

"Retroactively?" Su said, her eyes darting toward the runes.

He snapped his fingers. "Yeah! Stupid big word."

"Blimey." Cedric rubbed his forehead. "If that's true—if you destroyed it—then good riddance. Sorry for doubting you, mate—I owe you even more than I thought. Not that I understand the first thing about how you did that."

Su stared at Harry. "That's exactly like your..."

He nodded smugly. "I recreated it. Mostly. Had to wing some bits. Arithmantic mismatches... Could've gone better." He laughed. "Could've gone worse, if I had weaker teeth."

She looked at him with astonishment before leaning in to whisper. "Does _he_ have it?" She indicated Cedric with her eyes.

"Nope!" He wiggled his fingers. "I stole it off him. Not a perfect tra-transfer. Lots of space lost. Still."

"This sounds like a fascinating conversation," a dry voice said behind Harry. With nearly soundless steps, Croaker joined their group. "I would dearly like to hear what happened myself."

"Nah," Harry said, picking a fleck of dried blood off his lip. "Tired."

Croaker stiffened and turned to Cedric in a silent question.

Cedric glanced at Harry and jutted out his chin. "All I know is that one of your people abducted and nearly killed us."

"Your loyalty is commendable but misplaced, Mr. Diggory. We're not enemies." Croaker waited, then not getting a response, gestured at the Unspeakable standing behind Cedric. "If that's all you can tell us, then we have no further business. Your family must be worried; Toad will escort you out."

The one called Toad motioned toward the stairs by the chamber's wall, but Cedric crossed his arms and remained still despite the emotions warring on his face.

"It's okay," Su said.

Cedric looked at her in question, and when she nodded slightly, sighed and allowed himself to be ushered away. "I have to go back to Cho," he said apologetically over his shoulder, "but I'll check up on you as soon as I can."

Croaker contemplated Harry, who was goofily waving Cedric goodbye, then snorted and faced Su. "Fennec. What's the situation with Mr. Potter?"

Su rose, brushed off her robes, and stared up at his cowl. "The _situation_ is that Harry almost died because—"

Croaker waved her down. "Don't get emotional on me; it doesn't suit you. Magpie is neutralized and will be dealt with accordingly. What I want to know is just what Mr. Potter has cooked up here. Report."

"Oi," Harry said to no effect.

"I refuse," Su said.

Croaker's head tilted back in surprise. "Recall your position, Unspeakable. You ought to be grateful that I chose to overlook your flaunting of the regulations—"

"Oi!" Harry jabbed his finger at the man. "Lay off her, you ash... arsh... jerk!"

"Spare me the chivalry," Croaker said impatiently, "and tell me what this is all about." He gestured at the web of runes.

"Well, since you insist." Grinning gleefully, Harry extended his hand. "Help me up?"

"Very well," Croaker grumbled.

The Unspeakable's parchment-like hand clasped his, and Harry's grin widened. The next instant, Croaker vanished and his grey robes slumped to the floor in a heap. Cackling, Harry fell back on his arse.

Su sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Shouldn't have done that."

"Why not? That'll teach him to be an ass. Heh, watch him flounder when I let him out."

Harry crawled a few yards on all fours before thrusting out his palm. A wrinkled, rail-thin man appeared before him, still bending at the waist to extend his hand. He swiveled on the spot, then stared in shock at his saggy nakedness.

Getting an unwelcome eyeful, Harry recoiled and clawed at his face. "Oh god, my eyes!"

Su picked up Croaker's fallen robes and proffered them to him with her head tactfully turned aside. "Warned you."

Murmurs rippled through the scattered Unspeakables as more and more of them turned and stared. Croaker's gaunt face reddened as he yanked his robes out of Su's grip and draped them on.

"Potter!" he barked. "What did you do?"

Harry cackled and reached for him.

Croaker lurched back, nearly tripping over his feet. "Restrain him!"

To their credit, the Unspeakables immediately ceased gawking and pointed their wands at Harry. Su stepped in front of him and raised her own.

"Fennec?" said one of her colleagues.

"He's drugged." Su glared at Croaker, who was buttoning up his uniform.

"Belay that order," Croaker said irately. He raised his cowl to his balding pate, then grimaced and left it down. "Keep documenting the ritual, I'll... deal with Potter."

Su didn't drop her guard until her colleagues returned to work. Even then, she kept her wand bared as Croaker approached with a dour expression on his face. Harry was amused to see that the Unspeakable gave him a wide berth and opted to put Su between them.

"I apologize," Croaker said, looking like it pained him to say it. "Not only it is unreasonable of me to get angry at someone not in their right mind, it was our former colleague who put you in this state."

"That's... that's right," Harry said, surprised. "It _is_ your fault!"

Scowling in his general direction, Croaker adjusted his collar. "Yes, that's what I just said." He faced Su. "I'll excuse your insubordination this once. Given your personal involvement with the subject, it would be best if you distance yourself from any future cases—"

"Unnecessary," Su said.

Croaker's hand froze by his lapels. "I beg your pardon?"

She produced a badge that Harry couldn't seem to focus his gaze on and extended it. "I quit."

Croaker appeared even more gobsmacked than when he had found himself starkers. "You don't mean it, Fennec. This isn't like you."

She held his gaze impassively. "It's Li."

Croaker's scowl returned. "Don't let sentimentality get in the way of a successful career! Few candidates ever get fast-tracked into the Department of Mysteries straight out of Hogwarts, and you would waste the opportunity you were given?"

Her eyes narrowed. "If I'm to stay, I want his file expunged."

Croaker sputtered. "Don't you start giving _me_ conditions—"

"You lot have a file on me?" Harry piped up.

"Of course we do," Croaker said irritably. "We collect information on every aberration that could pose a major threat to our world."

He preened. "Understandable, carry on."

Su sent him a fondly exasperated look before squaring up to Croaker. "Magpie used it against him. There's no guarantee it won't happen again."

"Our security protocols will be reviewed," Croaker said. "Don't act rashly, Fennec. Let's talk about this once you've calmed down, and you'll see that I'm right."

She drew a shuddering breath and lowered her gaze. Just as Croaker nodded in a self-satisfied manner, she tilted her head to the side and said timidly, "Overseer?"

The everywhere-voice sounded a tad miffed as it said, "State your cause."

"No," Croaker whispered, clasping a hand over his pocket, "don't do this."

She swallowed. "I resign. Effective immediately."

"Acknowledged," the voice said. "Activating the non-disclosure agreement. Your personal belongings will be delivered by owl."

Su gasped softly as her uniform burst apart, leaving her in a button-down shirt and a pencil skirt. Most Unspeakables stopped whatever they were doing and stared.

Croaker gaped, then shook his head bitterly. "A bright, diligent witch like yourself would've quickly risen through the ranks. In just a few decades, you could've been working alongside our best to unravel the mysteries of magic... Yet you throw that away in a fit of childish obstinacy." Shadows hid his gaunt face he pulled up his cowl. "Good day, Miss Li. I doubt we'll see each other face to face again."

Su inclined her head. "It was good working with you."

Croaker hovered in place as if about to speak, then nodded curtly and strode off. "Back to work," he barked at his underlings. "I want every inch of this schematic copied down."

Su watched her former colleagues scurry about, then sighed and faced Harry, who was sitting on the floor and admiring her stockinged legs from his fortunate vantage point.

Sniffling, he wiped his bleeding nose. "This, er, isn't what it looks like."

The corners of her mouth curved up. "I know." Kneeling before him, she produced a powder-blue handkerchief and dabbed his upper lip. Her eyes looked a little misty.

"Gee, um." He swallowed. "You didn't have to do this for me."

She met his gaze intensely. "_My_ reports were in your file too."

"Don't blame yourself," he said. "You couldn't have known that crazy biddy would go rogue."

She pursed her lips and looked away. It was a while before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was wistful. "To me growing up, the Unspeakables were heroes protecting the world from the shadows. Brave and incorruptible. Yet after I was recruited, I saw petty rivalries, jealousy, gossip... Things not that different from Hogwarts. And now..."

Harry shrugged. That a governmental institution would be corrupt seemed par for the course to him.

"Naive of me, I suppose," she said, casting him a glance.

"Just a bit," he said without thinking.

Making a noise between a laugh and a sob, she slapped his chest. Her palm stayed, clutching his threadbare gown. He put his arms around her, hoping he didn't reek too badly, and she rested her forehead against his chest.

Lost in thought, Harry caressed her hair. His gaze landed on a pair of Unspeakables who were dragging the insensate Magpie up the stairs, and he flashed them a send-off salute.

"They're pretty interested in me, huh? Magpie even knew about the... Potions incident. My file must be massive." He grinned. "Is it the largest they've got?"

Su made a strangled noise. He looked at her with concern, but when she drew away, there was an impish glint in her dark eyes. "Not anymore."

His eyebrows rose. "Alright, what did you do?"

Her lips twitched, and she looked around before whispering into his ear, "Ever heard of the Babylonian Bookworm?"

His eyes widened. "You _didn't_."

She nodded, looking very pleased with herself.

"I don't believe it! Little Miss perfect track record, sabotaging government files?"

She shushed him and glanced over her shoulder cagily.

Harry offered her a sheepish smile. "Talk about burning bridges," he said in an undertone. "No way they'll be taking you back after something like this."

"I wasn't counting on it." She locked her eyes with his. "Not after this."

"Su..."

"Besides, my codename was lame," she continued airily.

"Aww, I thought it was adorable."

She gave him a flat look. "Precisely."

He chuckled, causing her to smile.

"And the uniforms," she said. "Not exactly flattering."

"A week ago I would've said they were pretty cool, but now I don't think I'll be able to look at another pair of grey robes without going for my wand." He ran his eyes up and down her smart outfit and wiped his nose. "This is definitely an improvement. I can't even look at you without getting a nosebleed."

She let out a surprised giggle, shook her head at him, and mopped his upper lip with her handkerchief.

Steps sounded behind them as Finch returned clutching a scroll and a length of rope. "Here's a referral to St. Mungo's and a Portkey straight to Admissions," he said, presenting them to Harry. "Doe and I agree that it would be prudent to place you under observation for the next few days, just in case. Regrowing the teeth will have to wait until tomorrow, I'm afraid—potion interactions are tricky business. Well. It's all written there."

Su slipped away from Harry reluctantly, and he accepted the scroll and the Portkey.

"One of us might drop by to get your side of the story once you're feeling better." Finch glanced at Su and coughed uncomfortably. "Fennec, the chief strongly suggested that you accompany Mr. Potter. This is no place for outsiders, you understand."

"I was going anyway," she said coldly.

Finch floundered. "Yes, well... The Portkey is set to activate in just about"—he glanced at his wristwatch—"four minutes. Excuse me, then."

Su frowned at his retreating back until Harry patted her hand comfortingly. Sighing, she rose to her feet and helped him up, then supported him as he lumbered outside the runic web.

An Unspeakable they passed lifted his head off a rune he was studying. "Watch it! You're smudging them!"

Harry flipped him the bird, and leaning on Su, staggered to the nearest wall. Slouching against it, he scowled at the sprawling schematic. Parts of it had been damaged during his duel with Magpie, parts were written in runes too tiny to make out once the ink had burned out, but large portions were still legible. Some Unspeakables crawled on their knees copying them onto parchment, while others walked alongside the edge snapping photos with bulky cameras whose flashes emitted puffs of smoke.

"You know," he mused, "I'm not at all enthused by this lot mucking about with my magic."

Su glanced at the center of the chamber. "You have no copy."

"Don't need it. This was a one-off thing." He stored away the referral, transferred the Portkey to his left hand, and materialized his wand in his right. "I'm wiping it."

She stared at him, then at the bustling Unspeakables, and worried her lip.

"Relax," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "We're not going to fight. Just wash it off and get out. How long till the Portkey activates, again?"

She took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall beside him. Lifting her hand, she checked the dainty watch resting on the underside of her wrist. "Two minutes."

"Perfect."

He slouched against the wall, the very image of exhaustion, as she periodically read off the time. With twenty seconds left, he straightened up and offered the rope in his left hand to Su. Her knuckles were white with tension as she grasped it, but no anxiety showed on her face.

He grinned in anticipation. "On three. One, two, three—"

"Aguamenti!" they exclaimed in unison.

Twin jets of water knocked the nearest Unspeakables off their feet and sent them skidding along the floor. Harry cackled as he directed his jet sideways to trip more grey-robes while Su focused on blasting the floor clean. Shields shimmered into existence, orders were shouted, and a hex splashed into the wall beside them—but then the Portkey whisked them off in a blur of color and noise.


	29. Rogue, Part 4

Harry slouched on his basilisk couch, his feet up on the coffee table, keeping one eye on the anime playing on the screen and the other on the scribbled list in his hands. Without looking, he reached into a bowl of spicy crisps beside him and began to bring one to his mouth, only to wince at a caw next to his ear. Stupid bird.

He glared at Firo, who was perched on the backrest, then sighed and ceded the crisp. She gripped it in her talons and pecked at it enthusiastically, spattering crumbs all over the place.

Harry snorted and brushed off his T-shirt. Before, he might've gotten irritated, but now he had a house-elf who could clean up the mess at a snap of his fingers—although that would have to wait, because the aforementioned elf was a little preoccupied.

Dobby balanced on the edge of the couch, his bulbous eyes riveted to the screen, where purple-haired twins were cutting down swaths of emotionless, statue-like Lunarians. His spindly hands were clasped together, and his pointy ears quivered with every swing of the twins' sleek long swords.

Harry grinned in wry amusement. After hearing that St. Mungo's healers had ordered him to get plenty of rest and take it easy, Dobby had zealously catered to his every need, so he had done little more than vegetate during the past week. He was beginning to fear that having a house-elf spoil him would turn him into a hopeless slob.

Although, he reflected as he eyed Dobby's entranced expression, he wasn't sure who was the worse influence on whom.

He lazily reached for the remote and increased the volume to drown out the patter of rain against the windows, then reclined and contemplated his list. Dense columns of adjectives filled its left half, while the right had a handful of nouns. Some entries were written in a neat tidy script or large, loopy handwriting that contrasted with his own chicken-scratch; since his names failed to get Dobby's approval, he had asked Su and Tony for help.

"Ashen Tower," he muttered. "Behemoth's Spine. Sorcerous Shaft." Snorting, he cast Dobby a side-glance, but as expected, the elf did not react. He moved down the list. "Let's see... Floppy? _Limp_? Oh, very funny, guys."

He fumbled about for a pen and crossed out Su's and Tony's more ridiculous additions. The nib of the pen hovered over the word 'Crooked' before it was subjected to the same fate.

"Crooked Spire," he murmured just to hear how it sounded. "Meh, lame."

"Dobby is an elf of Crooked Spire," Dobby said absently.

Harry's head jerked toward him. "What did you just say?"

Dobby's gaze flicked to him, then back to the screen, where the amethyst twins had been turned into splinters. "Harry Potter sir has given the house a name. Already its magic is growing stronger!"

"What? No, no, no. I was just thinking out loud." He scowled. _Crooked Spire_? While technically accurate, it was far from the image he was going for. "Oi, are you listening? I call takesies-backsies."

Dobby reluctantly turned his way, but before he could reply, a faint knock echoed up the staircase, and his ears went rigid. "Someone's at the door, Harry Potter sir. Shall... shall Dobby see who it is?" His teary gaze kept flicking sideways to the screen.

Harry mulled it over. On one hand, he didn't fancy trudging down two floors—living in a tower had its downsides—and letting in the cold. On the other, Dobby looked so pitiful he might just cry if he didn't get to see what happened next right away.

"Nah, I'll get it." Harry wagged a finger at the elf. "We'll talk about the whole naming thing later."

He rose and shuffled to the staircase, chuckling at how Dobby's stuttered reply trailed off as he became absorbed in the show again. The knocking came once more when he descended to the first floor, light but insistent, and he frowned, wondering who could it be. Not Muggles, certainly—he recently put up wards that veiled the tower's true nature from them—and his friends would use the Floo. Perhaps it was a magical resident of Godric's Hollow, unable to contain their curiosity about their new neighbor. He had been meaning to show his face at the village's pub, but with the weather being what it was, he didn't fancy taking a single step outdoors.

Descending to the ground floor, he walked up to the door, undid the latch, and pulled it open with a groan of effort. A gust of frigid wind drove the rain into his face, and he shielded his face with a sleeve. Then he lowered his hand and stared.

Su stood on the doorstep, her hair whipping about in the wind, black strands sticking to her pale face. Rain fell unimpeded on her and trickled down her cheeks like tears. A worn, heavy trunk hovered beside her. Lightning struck not far away, turning her briefly into a dark silhouette, and the ensuing thunderclap made him flinch.

"Bloody hell! What happened, Su?" Pulling the door wide open, he ushered her inside.

"I don't want to talk about it," she murmured, not meeting his eyes. Stepping up to him, she grasped the front of his shirt and took a shuddering breath. "Could I... stay a while?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. "Need a hand with..." Her trunk floated in at a wag of her finger. "Never mind."

He slammed the door shut, wiped the moisture off his forehead, and looked Su over with concern. Water dripped from the hem of her black robes and the tips of her hair, but oddly enough, her expression was far from miserable.

"Do you need a towel or..." He trailed off as she waved her wand and sighed in satisfaction when steam hissed from her drying robes. "Er, guess not."

"Please," she said, tilting her head to shake out her wet hair. Free from her usual ponytail, it hung to her shoulder in glimmering black tresses. "The spell's too harsh."

He offered her slippers to change into and led her to the ground floor bathroom, where he handed her a white fluffy towel. She patted her hair dry while he leaned in the doorway and peered at her searchingly. As though flustered by his attention, she buried her face in the towel. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

"Are you alright?" he asked with mounting confusion.

"Yes," she said into the towel. Lowering it, she sent him a sidelong glance. "I just needed to get away from my parents. They didn't take me quitting the Unspeakables well."

"Oh, Su." He put a hand on her shoulder. "They give you grief about it?"

She blinked. "No, they're inordinately worried. I'm tired of telling them I'm fine."

His brow furrowed. That sounded annoying but hardly merited the someone-died look she had worn when she arrived. Before he could voice his thoughts, however, Dobby appeared in the hallway with a soft pop.

"Dobby is finished watching pretty gems fight! Will the head-bashing twins be alright?" Dobby's eyes widened when he peeked around Harry's legs and into the bathroom. "Miss Su, you're shivering! Did you get caught in the rain? Dobby will brew hot tea right away!"

Harry glanced back in surprise; he hadn't seen her shiver at all.

She smiled. "I'd love that, Dobby."

"It is Dobby's pleasure! Please follow Dobby to the kitchen and tell Dobby how miss likes her tea." The elf turned around and froze when he spied Su's trunk in the entryway. "Miss Su brought luggage! Will miss be staying at Crooked Spire?"

"We're _so_ not calling it that," Harry interjected, crossing his arms.

She bent at the waist to get closer to Dobby's eye level. "Would that be alright?"

"Of course!" Dobby cried, quivering with excitement. "Dobby will bring the luggage upstairs right after he makes tea!"

Harry pouted. The titch hadn't even looked at him for his input.

With a sparkle in her eye, Su stood on her tiptoes to peck Harry on the corner of his mouth and squeezed past him. He stared at her back as she walked off alongside Dobby. For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that he got played.

He splashed cold water onto his face in an attempt to clear his head, still somewhat foggy after the experimental potion, then dried himself off and ambled to the kitchen. Dobby was putting the kettle on, while Su leaned out of the window with her wand extended into the rain. She started a little at his arrival, then relaxed again and cast the Summoning Charm. Under his befuddled gaze, a lump of scorched glass glided out of the forest and into her hand.

She looked it over with passing curiosity as she shut the window. "Dobby, where's the bin?"

"Let Dobby get that for you, miss." At a snap of his fingers, the lump floated out of her hands.

Harry shook his head, feeling like he was missing something. "What, exactly, is that?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Lightning in a bottle. Padma got it for me as a souvenir from Venezuela."

"Looks spent..." The rusty gears of his mind whirred for several moments before he caught on and pointed his finger at her accusingly. "Oi! I nearly wet myself back there!"

She clamped a hand over her mouth and dissolved into giggles. His indignant glare only made her laugh harder.

"Sorry," she choked out, not sounding convincing at all. "Thought you would appreciate my entrance."

Crossing his arms, he admitted grudgingly, "It _was_ dramatic as fuck."

She flashed a V-sign. "I practiced."

Despite himself, his lips twitched. He of all people respected the effort that went into creating a flashy entrance. "If you wanted to make me feel sorry for you, it bloody worked," he grumbled. "But you know you didn't need to go through that if you wanted to crash at my place, right?"

She nodded matter-of-factly. "That was just for fun."

"You little fox," he said, grinning. "I can't let this slide." He spread out his fingers and wiggled them.

Alarm crossed Su's face, and she took a step back. "Don't."

His grin widened as he advanced on her. He knew her weakness and would make her pay dearly for fooling him. She retreated until her back met the wall. Her eyes darted side to side, looking for an escape, and she lunged left, but he caught her by the waist and tickled her ribs.

She squealed and pressed her arms to her sides. "S-stop! I was going to—t-tell you later!"

"Toy with my feelings, will you?" Vanishing her robes into his malletspace, he attacked her sides through the thin fabric of her blouse.

She shrieked and squirmed, hitting his chest with her small fist. "M-make it up—"

"Oh yeah?" Halting the assault, he planted his palms against the wall on her either side. "And how are you going to do that?"

"I brought... costumes," she breathed, looking up at him with flushed cheeks.

"Costumes?" He stared at her with a mixture of suspicion and eagerness. "What kind?"

"The kind that would get me arrested in public," she delivered the killing blow.

"All is forgiven," he said solemnly. "Dobby! Treat her trunk with utmost care..." He blinked at the empty kitchen, the kettle whistling on the stove. For all his eagerness to be of service, Dobby knew when to give him privacy.

* * *

The next morning, Harry awoke to sun streaming through the bedroom windows. Rolling onto his side, he fumbled for his glasses on the bedside cabinet and slipped them on. He stared groggily at the empty half of the bed, then at the thick dark drapes that had been left wide open.

Slumping back on his pillow, he groaned. "Very subtle."

Well, he was wide awake now, so there was little to do but get up. Resolved to find Su and explain that the movements of the sun did not concern one such as him—that a free man had the right to sleep through the entire morning if he so chose—he swung his feet off the edge of the bed.

He shuffled into the luxurious bathroom, went through his morning ablutions, and marginally more awake, made his way downstairs. When he descended to the ground floor, an appetizing smell of frying rashers wafted to his nose, accompanied by a faint sizzling from the kitchen. Dobby must've started making breakfast the moment he got up. The titch was the best, his excessive devotion notwithstanding.

Yawning, he pushed the kitchen door open and strode inside. He made perhaps four steps before halting in his tracks. Dobby was nowhere in sight. Instead, Su was bustling around the stove in a frilly apron—and absolutely nothing underneath.

"Good morning," she said over her shoulder, giving him a glimpse of her pink cheeks before they were obscured by the fall of her hair. "Hope you don't mind." She gestured at the stove with a spatula.

"Uh, no... I mean, yeah..." He swallowed. "I don't mind."

"Take a seat, it's almost done."

Eyes glued to her wiggling behind, he edged to the table. He stubbed his toe on a chair leg, winced, and fumbled for the backrest to draw it out. Su lifted the pan and deftly portioned out eggs and rashers onto two plates that already held sautéed greens and toast. Were it not for her outfit, the scene would have looked mundane and homey.

"You, ah, dressing light this morning?" he asked, failing to keep his tone as nonchalant as hers had been.

There was a glint in her eye when she glanced at him. "I'm trying to convince you to let me move in."

He opened his mouth, then closed it as alarm bells rang in his head. Sirius warned him about this! A myriad of mysterious jars and bottles cluttering the bathroom counter. Hair _everywhere_. Piles of cutesy decorative pillows on the couch. No more drinking from the carton—

A spatula clattered to the floor, breaking his train of thought.

"I'm so clumsy," Su deadpanned, and bent over to pick it up.

Harry sprang up. The food could wait.


End file.
